


Baker Street Boys

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock is a Brat, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: A look into the life of the family of four inside the walls of Baker Street.





	1. Chapter One

John woke up from a good night’s sleep. Sherlock had solved a case the evening before and everything had been wrapped up not long before midnight. While Sherlock stalked off into the night John and Greg had spent the last couple of hours before closing time at a pub not far from New Scotland Yard and he’d collapsed into his bed just before three. 

He was always tired after a case so wasn’t surprised when he woke with a yawn, he had the day to recover from the week before and intended to spend most of it in bed anyway. There wasn’t much light creeping in around the window’s edge and he climbed out of bed to peel back the curtains and see what the day had to hold. It was grey, wet and cold. Darker than he had expected though, so he glanced over at the clock beside his bed.

06:05.

“Argh.” John grumbled to himself, his built-in body clock had been faulty for years now, it had been a long time since he woke unaided so early the morning after the resolution of a case. It was over clouded enough outside that he left the curtains open as he retreated back to bed, knowing it wouldn’t get light enough outside to disturb his well-earned sleep.

He was just about to nod off again when he heard sounds in the distance, Sherlock was up. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, so he closed his eyes again, only to find his mind focusing in more closely on the noises he could hear. It sounded as though he had turned the television on. Not odd for most people, but for Sherlock…

John pushed himself up again and stumbled out of his bedroom and towards the cause of the noise, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his palm. The sounds grew louder as he approached, and he could hear the tell tell squeaks and cheers that accompanied children’s morning television.

When he reached the door the living room, John paused to lean against to door frame and looked over to see Sherlock sat crossed legged a couple of feet from the television.

“Lock?” John groaned, still half asleep.

Sherlock’s head span around and he broke out into a grin before scrambling to his feet, “John! You’re up!”

“Yeah.”

Sherlock slid across the wood floors in his socks and collided with John, wrapping his arms around him.

“Mornin’!” Sherlock chirped.

“Good morning.” John mumbled with a smile before prying Sherlock away from him, so he could get a good look at him, “How long have you been awake, hm?”

“Err,” Sherlock rolled his eyes up as he thought before dropping them back down and grinning at John, “Ages!” 

“I thought so.” John grumbled mostly to himself, “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.” John started to make his way into the kitchen and Sherlock scurried back over the television, “Ah, ah, that’s enough TV for now mate.” Sherlock stopped and pouted over his shoulder at John, but when the older man held out a hand and wriggled his fingers in Sherlock’s direction the boy couldn’t resist and hopped over to him. “What do you fancy?”

Sherlock plonked himself in a seat at the table and fidgeted as he thought before deciding with a nod, “Coco Pops.”

“Coco Pops…” John started with a raised eyebrow in Sherlock’s direction as he retrieved two bowls from the cupboard.

“Please!” Sherlock added a little too loudly for that time in the morning.

“Good lad.” John placed two bowls and two spoons on the table before taking the box of cereal from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge. “Right, do you want to pour your-“

“Yep!” Sherlock grabbed the plastic carton of milk from the middle of the table and pulled it towards himself,

“Alright but be careful, we’re not drowning your cereal this morning.”

“Ohhh.”

“I know, but I actually want you to eat this bowl of cereal. And if you try to find out what happens to Coco Pops when you drown them…again, you won’t want to eat your cereal. We can do some cereal experiments later.”

“Why can’t we s’periment now?”

“Because it’s too bloody early.” John scoffed, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip the second the words escaped his mouth,

“You swore!” Sherlock gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at John.

“Yep, yeah I did, I’m sorry.”

“Now allowed.” Sherlock frowned.

“No, you’re right Lock, it’s not allowed, I’m sorry. I forgot there were little ears in the room.” 

“They’re not little!” Sherlock protested while trying to pull his own earlobe far enough away from his head that he could see it,

“Careful, Lock,” John chuckled, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Wont!” Sherlock spat at John before suddenly releasing his ear, “Ow!” and rubbing the side of his head.

“You alright?” John chuckled.

“Yeah,” Sherlock mumbled, “Pulled too hard.”

“Oh dear, you won’t do that again, eh?”

“No.” Sherlock pouted,

“Here, why don’t I pour the exact amount of milk on your cereal as on mine, then we’ll have exactly the same breakfast. How about that?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, and John retrieved the milk from Sherlock’s side of the table before adding a small amount to each of the bowls. 

“There we go, just the same.” John nudged Sherlock’s bowl over to him and handed him his spoon, “Eat up.”

“Fanks.” Sherlock smiled sweetly as John before eyeing him closely, so he could match him mouthful for mouthful.

“After breakfast I’ll give Da and Pa a ring.”

“Ohhh.” Sherlock whined and frowned at his breakfast.

“Eh, what’s wrong?”

Sherlock sighed and shuffled in his seat before mumbling, “When you call them, they come and get me, and you stay and do growned up stuff.”

“Do I?” John asked genuinely.

“A-huh, always.”

John thought about it for a moment and was upset with himself to find that Sherlock was right. “I suppose I do.”

“Yeh.”

“Sometimes I have grown up things that I have to take of Lock, it’s not because I don’t want to play with you.”

“S’not?” Sherlock asked as he peered through his fringe at John.

“No mate,” John reached over and ruffled Sherlock’s hair, “You’re my little brother, playing with you is my favourite thing.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock asked having perked up,

“Of course. Tell you what, how would you feel about me babysitting you today?”

“Not a baby!” Sherlock argued very loudly,

“Alright, alright, sorry.” John held up his hands to try and calm Sherlock down, “How about I…little brother-sit you, today?”

“Really?” 

“Would you like that?”

“Yeh!”

“Alright then, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Can we do s’permients now? Look I’ve finished.” Sherlock held up his empty bowl for John to see.

“Good job, Lock, well done!” John smiled as he picked up the two empty plates and walked to the sink.

“S’periments?”

“Later, Lock, right now…” John dried his hands on a dish cloth and turned around to give Sherlock his full attention, “You need to go back to bed- “John held up a hand to cut off Sherlock’s argument before it started, “For at least a couple of hours.”

“Why?!!” Sherlock whined.

“Becaaausee,” John whined back, mimicking Lock before walking over and taking his chin lightly in his hand, “I know you haven’t been to bed yet.”

“But-“

John cut of Sherlock again, “I know that was Big Sherlock, but now it’s your responsibility to catch up on some of that sleep Big Sherlock missed, because you’re such a good boy.” Sherlock frowned down at his chest, “But I’m tired too, so I’ll come with you.”

“Yeh?!”

“Yep, come on monkey.” John took Sherlock’s hand and pulled him towards his bedroom.


	2. Chapter Two

As John pulled Sherlock along the corridor, Lock stopped suddenly bringing John to a halt. He turned to look at him, “What’s up?”

“Were those tricky Coco Pops?” Sherlock asked with a titled head,

“What?” John chuckled.

“Tricky, so I’d forget about the telly?”

“Hm,” John thought as he started leading Sherlock again, “Yeah, I guess they were.”

“Thought so.” Sherlock mumbled, forgetting about his strop the moment John opened the door to his bedroom as he pulled his hand from John’s and raced to the bed, leaping onto it. “Your bed’s the bounciest!” 

“That’s because I haven’t broken half of the springs by- “John strode across to Sherlock who was now bouncing on the bed and pulled him down onto his bum again, “Bouncing on it.” John looked down at Sherlock, “No jumping on the bed.” He warned before giving Sherlock a tap on the side of his thigh, “In you get.”

Sherlock scurried up the bed and climbed under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.

“Good boy.” John rounded the bed and climbed in on his side, a little surprised when Sherlock suddenly cuddled up to him, “Oh, hello mate.”

“Ello!” Sherlock smiled up at him. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we make a fort later?”

“A fort?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess we can-“

“Yay!”

“Close your eyes.”

“John?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

“Can we make the fort out of hundreds and thousands of legos?”

“…Maybe.”

“Issat a maybe yes, or a maybe no?”

“That’s a maybe, if you’re a very good boy and close your eyes.”

“If I’m a good boy by closing my eyes or if I’m a good boy and I close my eyes?”

“If you’re a good boy and you close your eyes.”

“That’s harderer.”

“You’re a clever boy, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Being clever doesn’t make it easier to be a good boy.”

John sighed, very loudly, “No, but it should mean that you realise what good behaviour is.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now close your eyes.”

“John?”

“…Yes Sherlock?”

“Can we make fairy cakes later?”

“At this rate you’re going to be spending the rest of the day in bed, if you don’t settle down, close your eyes and get some sleep.”

“After I’ve sleeped can we make fairy cakes?”

“That’s a very big maybe, mate, now close, your, eyes.”

“Is it a bigger maybe than the Lego fort maybe?”

“Okay,” John sighed and sat up against the headboard, Sherlock turned on his side to look up at him, “You’re acting up, Lock, so this is your warning. Now close your eyes and get some sleep.”

“Thas not fair I can’t get a warning for questions!” Sherlock spluttered sitting up on his knees.

“You can if you’re using those questions to avoid doing what you’re told.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, “Now come here and give me a cuddle while we sleep.”

“M’kay.” Sherlock nodded as he cuddled up to John again.

“No more questions, buddy, just sleepy time.”

“Are you tired?”

“Yes,” John sighed as he closed his eyes, “I’m very tired.”

“That was a question.” Sherlock smirked to himself, celebrating the win, “Ow!” Before rubbing the smacked spot on his bum.

“Behave.”

“Sorry.”

“Good boy, now go to sleep.”

“Kay.”

 

A couple of hours later John woke up to find Sherlock still cuddled up next to him, breathing deeply. He sent a quick text to Mycroft to let him know what was going on and closed his eyes again, making the most of Sherlock’s sleepy state.

John sighed deeply and slowly opened his eyes,

“Shit!” he jumped at the sudden sight of two large eyes an inch from his own.

“Swore!” Sherlock announced as he jumped up from his position with his chin on John’s chest, pointing a finger at John once he was kneeling to the side. 

“Yep.” John sighed, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, leaning against the headboard.

“I’m gonna tell Pa!” 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” John grumbled.

“Cos of soap?” Sherlock asked.

“That’s exactly why.”

“Mm, I’ll tell Da then.”

John chuckled at Sherlock’s train of thought, but ran through the potential outcome of either of his surrogate fathers finding out he swore in front of the baby, “No, mate, if you’re going to tell on me, tell Pa.”

“Oh, cos of smacks?”

“Right again.”

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about Da spanking his big brother and he shook his head, “I won’t tell on you.” Before curling up with his head on John’s chest.

“Thanks, little brother.” John sighed as he stroked Sherlock’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mm, okay.” Sherlock nodded.

“Are you still tired?”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “Just,” he tilted his head back and forth as he tried to think of the right word, “Floppy.” 

“Floppy.” John chuckled, “That’s a good word. Well Mr Floppy, what do you want to do?”

“Fort?” Sherlock asked, turning his head to the other side so he could gaze up at John.

“Yeah, let’s build a fort. You go on, I’ll bring your Legos through.” John nudged Sherlock up from his resting place.

 

Mycroft was sat at his desk working away when his phone pinged. Now his work phone, but his family phone. It was only because of the alternate ring tones that Sherlock had assigned to the family phone that he looked away from his computer screen to see John’s name light up on his screen.

‘Lock’s little. I’ve said I’ll babysit.’ 

Mycroft picked up the phone and stormed out of his office before marching down the hall and pulling his coat from its hook.

“Love?” Greg called from the front room.

“Text from John.” Mycroft mumbled as he walked into the room, pulling on his coat. He held his phone up for Greg to see before pocketing it and looking at his husband expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?” Greg chuckled. 

“Get your coat, come on.”

“Read the text again.”

“I do not need to read the message again, Gregory. Eidetic memory.” Mycroft seethed. 

“Watch it.” Greg growled before leaning forward and taking Mycroft’s hands in his. “John says he’s got it covered.”

“No, John does not ‘say he’s got it covered’, John said that he said he’d babysit. Which means Sherlock asked him to.”

“And?”

“And,” Mycroft started tapping his toe impatiently as he explained, “That means it was not John’s idea. Sherlock’s just little and being mighty manipulative.”

“You’re reading too much into it, love.”

“Oh, don’t ‘love’ me!”

“Myc.” Greg warned as he stood up and Mycroft actually blushed before Greg pulled him into a hug. “Look, we’ll give them a couple of hours, then we’ll check in. That gives John and Lock some time together and us a chance to have some lunch before parenting duties kick in. How about that?”

“Oh, but- “

“No ‘buts’ Myc. Come on I’m taking you out.”

“Gregory- “

“You’ve already got your coat on. We’ll go by Baker Street on the way home.” 

“Fine.” Mycroft sighed, and Greg laughed as he lead him out into the hallway,

“Oh, charming!”

“No, sorry, I meant- “

“I know what you meant, Myc. Come on, what do you fancy?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Then we’ll go to that fancy tea room you like, you can have those tiny sandwiches that leave you hungrier than when you started.”

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed with a smile, “That would be lovely.”

 

John was sat crossed legged on the floor, on the other side of an increasingly tall Lego wall that Sherlock was building. John moved to click one of the tiny pieces into place when Sherlock screeched, “No, John you’re doing it wrong!”

“Lock,” John sighed, “It’s clicking bits of plastic together, how can I be doing it wrong?”

“No reds next to blues!”

“Why?”

“Be-cauuusee!” Sherlock whined, kicking his heels against the floor in frustration. 

“Alright, alright,” John held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t realise mate. But there’s a red next a blue there.” He pointed at a point towards the bottom of the wall.

“Where?!” Sherlock hurried to his knees, so he could inspect the wall more closely.

“Right there.” John pointed to the point on the wall where red and blue unfortunately met.

“No, no, no!” Sherlock wailed before smacking an enormous chunk of the wall to the floor with his palm.

“Whoa, whoa, easy Lock.” John tried to stop the wall from toppling over but before he could try to salvage what they had spent the best part of an hour building, Sherlock was ripping off large chunks and crumbling the Lego back into its composite pieces. 

“Lock, stop. Come on, it’s okay- “

“No!” Sherlock screamed over John’s attempts to calm him down and threw a handful of Lego bricks across the room.

“Hey!” John jumped to his feet, mostly to get out of the projectile directory. “That’s enough, Lock, I mean it.” John was trying to his best to sound authoritative but was failing completely, most probably because he was completely confused.

“It’s all wrong!” Sherlock wailed before collapsing into a heap of long limbs on the floor. He hid his face behind his knees as he started to cry.

“Hey, hey,” John murmured as he toed Lego bricks out of the way, so he could kneel down by Sherlock. “It’s okay.” John offered as he started to rub Sherlock’s back.

“S’not.” Sherlock shook his head as he rubbed his face with his palm. 

“We can build it again.”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head again. “Won’t be the same.”

“No, it’ll be better.” John tried to pull Sherlock in for a hug but instead found that he met with absolutely no resistance and Sherlock’s body collapsed into his lap.

“Don’t want to. Hate Legos.” Sherlock mumbled into John’s leg as he kicked his own legs, scattering Lego’s all over the room in the process.

“Alright, alright, we won’t play with them anymore.”

“Well, then what?!” Sherlock wailed loudly,

“Then we’ll play something else. Come on, that’s enough of that.” John grumbled slightly as he pulled Sherlock up, so he was sitting in John’s lap, his head on his shoulder. Sherlock’s face was red and blotchy, his eyes were red and watery, and his nose was running. John’s heart broke at the sight of him, but he knew deep down that he was absolutely fine, he wasn’t sure what that fit had really been about, but he’d tell Mycroft, he always knew. “Shhh, shhh,” John rocked Sherlock slightly, the best he could in his current position, and rubbed his back until his tears turned into the occasional sniffle. “Come on then you, let’s go and sit at the table.”

“Not hungry.” Sherlock grumbled with a pout and John chuckled,

“I didn’t say anything about eating, did I? No, we’re going to do some colouring.”

“Noooo-“

“Yep, it’s John’s turn to pick a game, and I pick colouring. Up you get.” John shuffled Sherlock out of his lap and Lock reluctantly climbed to his feet, hovering over John as he waited for him to do the same. John made a few undignified sounds as he stood on his crushed legs but once he was up he took Sherlock’s hand and lead him to the table. John pulled out a chair for Sherlock and waited until he sat down before pulling the Tupperware boxes of pens, pencils, crayons and paper from the cupboard. “Here we go,” John pulled a chair up next to Sherlock and turned away to flick the kettle on. “Do you want some milk?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head, his pout still very much present.

“Are you sure? Sure you don’t want some milk and a biscuit?”

“No.”

“Alright then Grumpy, I’m going to have a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

Sherlock shrugged and started searching the boxes for the best colours.

A couple of minutes later John put his mug down on the table, alongside a side plate with a couple of custard creams and settled into his seat. “What are we drawing?”

“Dunno.” Sherlock mumbled, “Not good at pitchers.”

“Oh, that’s not true Lock, you’re very good at drawing pictures.”

“Not.” Sherlock shook his head and, in the process, caught sight of the custard creams on John’s plate. John saw his eyes light up and hid a smirk from the boy, “Well, just try your best.” Sherlock pouted and rested his head on his arm, but started to draw something on the blank page in front of him.

“Good boy.” John smiled as he ruffled Sherlock’s hair. John noticed that Sherlock’s eyes were still focused on his plate. “What should I draw?” John asked him, hoping the boy would come up with something because he was suffering from a serious case of blank paper dread.

“Mmmmm,” Sherlock thought seriously for a moment, “A dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yep,” Sherlock nodded, “With glasses.” He added suddenly.

“A dog with glasses?” John asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, oh and a cape!” Sherlock insisted excitedly, suddenly sitting up straight.

“That sounds like something you want to draw, Lock.”

“No! You’ll draw it better! You do it, you draw Seamus!” Sherlock prodded John’s sheet of paper.

“Seamus?”

“Yeah!”

“Where’d you get that name from?” John asked as he started to draw the dog, with glasses and a cape.

“Dunno.” Sherlock shrugged before leaning across John, “Biskit?” he asked as he grabbed the biscuits from John’s plate.

“Yeah, alright then.” John nodded, and Sherlock grinned before shoving all of the biscuits into his mouth at once. “Mate,” John sighed as he shook his head, not impressed with the display,

“Wah?!” Sherlock asked spitting half of his mouthful across the table, “S’nice!”

“I know they’re nice, they were meant to be mine.”

“Get more then.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pointed at the packet still on the counter top.

“Don’t be cheeky, Lock.” John grumbled as he continued concentrating on his drawing. 

“M’not!” Sherlock protested loudly.

“Oi, calm down” John pointed a finger in Sherlock’s direction, which instead of calming him down, just frustrated him more.

“No!” Sherlock shouted as he pushed the box of crayons off the table, grinning as he heard them scatter all over the floor.

“Right,” John put down his pen and stood up, “You’re picking them up.” John hoped to his core that Sherlock would just do as he was told. He was more tired than he had realised and was growing frustrated with his annoying little brother. He’d seemed so much more adorable an hour ago. Or maybe John had been far more patient an hour ago, he couldn’t work out which, but it was probably Sherlock’s fault, whatever the problem. Stupid little brothers.

“No!” Sherlock repeated, this time hovering his hand near the box of pens,

“Don’t, Lock.” John warned, but Sherlock didn’t listen, instead smirking as he pushed a second box to the floor, giggling at the clattering sound the pens made as they hit the floorboards. 

“Little shit.” John mumbled under his breath, or at least so he thought but Sherlock’s smirk just grew louder and he pointed a long arm at him,

“I’m tellin!” 

“Good!” John spat back, fast running out of any patience or composure. “And I’ll tell them you’ve been a fucking nightmare!”

“John Hamish!”

Both John and Sherlock froze, their eyes set on each other as they silently communicated, ‘Did you say that?’ ‘Nope, I never say your middle name, you get stroppy, did you say it?’ ‘No. Why would I shout my own name?’ ‘Oh yeah.’ ‘Oh no.’ Sherlock slowly turned in his seat and John lifted his eyes until they were both staring at Greg and Mycroft who were standing in the doorway. Greg was cross, Mycroft was seething.

Sherlock glanced between the two men, Mycroft hadn’t taken his eyes off of John and looked altogether too cross for Sherlock to risk drawing his attention. Greg however looked more frustrated, as he usually did in situations like this and when he locked eyes with Sherlock, the younger man forgot all about the trouble he and his brother were in, instead remembering just how much he had missed them both.

“Da!” Sherlock chirped as he skipped across the room to Greg.

“Trouble.” Greg mumbled affectionately before pulling him into a hug.

John and Mycroft appeared to be stuck on pause. Mycroft glaring and John looking sheepish as he tried to calculate his chances of making a run for it.

“Right, you.” Greg muttered as he pulled Sherlock away from his chest, “Corner.”

“Why?!” Sherlock gasped, open-mouthed, completely forgetting about what had happened just a moment before.

“Why do you think?” Greg asked, taking Sherlock’s chin gently in his fingers, “Hm?”

Sherlock thought hard for a moment, then remembered, “Oh yeah.”

“Oh yeah.” Greg smiled at Sherlock fondly, “Go on.” He sighed, nodding his head in the direction of a corner of the living room.

“Oh.” Sherlock moaned half-heartedly as he shuffled to his destination. Greg watched as Sherlock reached the corner and sat down cross-legged, before turning his attention back to John and Mycroft.

Greg switched his sights from man to man, or man to boy as seemed to be the case, waiting to see who would make the first move. Eventually, as if he had been reanimated Mycroft marched towards John.

“Sit.” He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs and John, who was surprised he hadn’t been smacked yet, jumped to do as he was told. He eyed Mycroft carefully as he approached one of the kitchen cupboards, then another, then another, getting more and more frustrated when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. “One day this week the two of you are going to sit down and pay attention to me while I tell you how to organise a…” Mycroft muttered to himself from his position on the floor, arm lost to the shoulder in one of Baker Streets dusty cupboards. “Ah,” he calmed slightly when he finally found the multi-pack of soap bars he had purchased for the flat only a few weeks before. It was hidden at the back of one of the cupboards, behind an age-old tin of ham. “Don’t think that I don’t know these were hidden on purpose.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in the direction of what had been John’s face but was now his ear and the edge of a red cheek. 

“Mm.” He dropped the box on the counter top and pulled a single bar from the top, unwrapping it as he approached the bin. “Eyes front, Sherlock Holmes.” 

Greg’s eyes darted over to the corner he had sent Sherlock to, just in time to see him jump and look away from the scene in the kitchen. His attention was pulled back to Mycroft when he heard him say, “Open.”

Mycroft stood over John’s shoulder, holding the bar of soap in front of his mouth. John started to whine but was quickly cut off, “Now!” 

John relented, and the soap was gently positioned in his open mouth, “Bite down.” 

John made a poor attempt to protest, his ability to speak all but lost given his position. Mycroft frowned as he quickly lost patience. Placing a finger under his chin he pushed up, encouraging John to close his mouth. John relented, releasing the battle was lost and grimaced as his teeth sunk into the soap. 

Mycroft finally emerged from behind John, for just long enough to point a finger at him, “Don’t move a muscle,” before beckoning his husband, “Gregory,” and retreating into the hallway.


	3. Chapter Three

“What did I tell you?!” Mycroft snapped, and Greg held up his hands defensively. 

“Hey, I didn’t realise John was all…stroppy teenager.”

“I told you we shouldn’t leave them.”

“I know, well, we’re here now.”

“Mm.” Mycroft pursed his lips, frustrated at his husband. 

“Don’t you get stroppy too.” Greg sighed.

“I don’t strop, Gregory.”

“You do bloody too.” 

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue but Greg held up a hand, “Hold on love.”

“Oh, fine, I’ll ‘hold on’.” Mycroft spat back, and Greg snapped his fingers, pointing at him,

“Watch it.” Greg stepped back and quietly opened the door, peering around it he sighed at what he saw. “Stay there, Myc.”

Mycroft sighed but did as he was told, and Greg disappeared back into the kitchen. John was holding the bar of soap away from his mouth as he wretched, Greg rolled his eyes and took the soap from him making John jump. Before walking over to the sink and pouring a glass of water, handing it to John, 

“Drink this, lad.”

John’s eyes went wide with relief as he grabbed the glass and drained it before handing the glass back,

“Thanks,”

“Alright, bite down again,” Greg held the soap in front of John’s mouth again and the younger man groaned. “Should have watched your mouth, my boy, now open up.”

John relented, and Greg ruffled his hair, “Good lad.”

Leaving John to mope, Greg moved over to Sherlock who had now abandoned his corner and was back playing with his Lego’s, apparently completely unaware of what else was going on in the room. 

With a strong hand, Greg took a hold of Sherlock’s upper arm and he let out a little yelp of surprise. “Come on,” Greg sighed, lifting Sherlock off the floor and depositing him back in the corner.

“I’m bored, Da!” Sherlock whined.

“Just a couple more minutes, then you and me will have a little chat.”

“A nice one?” Sherlock asked sweetly. 

“First we need to talk about your behaviour, trouble.”

“Ohh.”

“I know, I know, I’m mean.” Greg stroked Sherlock’s hair and the boy leaned into his touch. “Two more minutes, love, then I’ll come back. Be a good boy and stay put.”

“Kay, Da.”

“Good boy. Two more minutes for you too, John.”

John sighed loudly and rested his head on his hand. 

When Greg retreated back into the hallway Mycroft was tapping his toe, impatiently. Greg chuckled,

“You don’t like being told to wait, do you love?”

“Obviously not…Well?”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t have left them alone. You’re always right.”

“Thank you. Shall we deal with them now?”

“Yeah, they’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Not waiting patiently, I take it?”

“Doing their best.”

Mycroft huffed, “Not good enough.”

“Go easy, love.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” With that Mycroft marched past Greg back into the kitchen. “Sherlock Holmes I will not tell you again, nose in the corner!”

Sherlock jumped at Mycroft’s harsh tone and quickly span on the spot.

“Thank you. Now, John Hamish Watson,” Mycroft took the soap from John’s mouth and held it in one hand, the other arm crossed over his chest, “What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Err, sorry?”

“Try again.” Mycroft sighed as Greg walked across the room. He tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and the boy looked up at him, with a wink Greg quietly lead Sherlock from the room, leaving Mycroft to deal with the teenager. 

“Sorry sir?” John tried again.

“Is that a question, John?”

“No. Sorry sir.”

“Ah, there we go. Rinse.”

John let out a sigh of relief as he jumped to his feet and rushed over to the sink. Turning on the cold-water John leaned over, tilting his head under the running water. Only a drop had touched his tongue before Mycroft yanked him back by the scruff of his neck and delivered a hard smack to the back of his head. 

“With a glass, you are not some uncivilised oik, John, even though you’re behaving like one.” 

A frustrated sigh left John’s lips before he could stop it and he winced in anticipation of the hard slap to the back of his thigh that followed. 

“You are in desperate need of an attitude adjustment, young man.”

 

Sherlock skipped behind Greg towards his bedroom,

“Have you missed me, Da?”

“Oh, of course I have Lock.” Greg opened the door to Sherlock’s room and ushered him inside before closing the door behind them. “Sit down on your bed.”

“Is John-John in trouble?”

“Yep.” Greg took a seat next to Sherlock.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Yep.” 

“Ohh.” 

“Were you giving your brother a hard time?”

“No!”

“Lock.”

“Wasn’t!”

“Don’t fib, Sherlock.” Greg warned,

“John-John’s grumpy.”

“Mm, but have you been naughty?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head, sending his curls bouncing.

“Well, I saw you being naughty when me and Pa walked in, so I think you’d better stop telling fibs lad.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow and Greg readied himself for a strop.

“Are you gonna stay?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Yeah, Lock, of course I’m staying.” Greg reached out and pulled Sherlock into a sideways hug, caught off guard by the question.

“Maybe I was a tiny bit naughty,” Sherlock mumbled.

“A tiny bit?”

“A very tiny bit.” Sherlock nodded, and Greg chuckled before planting a kiss on top of his head.

“Okay, well you’ve sat in the corner, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. 

“Right, well, when we go back out, you’re going to apologise to your brother,”

“Kay.”

“And no more naughtiness for the rest of the day, Lock, or I’ll smack your bum, you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded sadly, and Greg kissed his head again,

“Alright then champ, it’s all done, no more trouble.” 

Sherlock sighed loudly and leaned into Greg,

“Right then lad, bath time for you.”

“I don’t need one!” Sherlock protested as Greg stood up and started searching his chest of drawers for clean pyjamas.

“Yep, you do. You’ve got biscuit crumbs- “Greg returned to Sherlock and brushed some of the crumbs from his cheeks and hair, “Everywhere, apparently, and a nice soak will calm you down.”

“I’m calm!”

“No, you’re not.” Greg sighed, “You’re all hyped up.” Greg dropped the clean folded clothes on the end of the bed and moved to stand in front of Sherlock, “Arms up,”

“Can I have toys?” he asked as he held his arms in the air and let Greg remove his t-shirt.

“You can have one toy, but you can choose which one.”

“An bubbles?”

“Of course, bubbles. Up,” Sherlock stood and let Greg remove his trousers and pants before dropping them in the washing basket. He tucked Sherlock’s clean clothes under one arm and held his free hand out, “Come on,” Sherlock took his hand and Greg pulled him down the corridor and into the bathroom.

“Bum on the mat,” Greg mumbled as he pointed at the bath mat and closed the bathroom door behind them. He could still hear Mycroft in full ‘dressing down’ mode and thought it best to leave him to it.

Sherlock sat down cross-legged on the bath mat and Greg handed him the green plastic basket of bath toys from under the sink, before crouching down in front of him,

“Pick one, Lock, just one, okay?”

“Kay, Da.”

“Good boy.” Greg ruffled Sherlock’s hair as he stood up and started to run the bath, adding lavender scented bubbles and finding Sherlock’s favourite fluffy towel, it was embroidered with friendly frogs and despite its large size, still had a hood sewn into the design. It was one of the many items Mycroft brought home that he had to assume were custom made, there couldn’t possibly be enough frog obsessed adult detectives with a desire for hooded towels to warrant a stock intake anywhere. When he was happy that the water was the right temperature, bubbles suitably duplicated and spread across the water top, he looked down at Lock,

“What have we picked?” he asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

“Blue whale,” Sherlock announced, holding the plastic whale aloft.

“Oh, good choice, up you get,” Greg helped him up before putting the basket of toys away and guiding Sherlock into the tub. Sherlock sank back into the water, leaning against the backrest and letting the whale go for a few dives.

“Does Mr Whale have a name?” Greg asked as he knelt down beside the bath and dampened Sherlock’s frog flannel. It seemed that despite his usually young mental age in these scenarios, that Sherlock preferred his bathroom-based animals to be at the very least amphibious, if not entirely water bound.

“Theodore.” Sherlock mumbled as Theodore went for a particularly deep dive before resurfacing. 

“Of course, he’s called Theodore,” Greg chuckled, “You’re very good with names, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock grinned from behind a pile of bubbles.

“Have you eaten today?” Greg asked without making eye contact, in the hope that Sherlock wouldn’t see this as a fishing question, rather small talk while he was divested of his biscuit based skin crust. 

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded, proud of himself, he had indeed eaten.

“What have you had?” Greg prodded again, as he lifted a lanky arm to wash it.

“Err, tricky coco-pops and John-John’s biscuits.” Sherlock rolled his eyes up as he recalled and nodded once he had remembered rightly.

“Ah, no wonder you like it when John babysits- “Greg started but was instantly cut off at the B word. 

“Not a baby!”

“Sorry, right, ‘little brother sits’,” Greg quickly corrected himself before glancing over at Sherlock to see him nod in silent agreement with the alternative term, “He only feeds you sugar.”

“Yeah!” Sherlock grinned again, wiggling in the water. 

“Well, you’re having something sensible to eat before you go to bed, my boy.” Greg half-heartedly scolded with a stern expression, undercut by the smirk he couldn’t keep at bay.

“Ohhh.” Sherlock whined with a frown. Sensible was one of the very worst adjectives for just about any purpose.

“I know, I’m horrible, aren’t I? Making you eat proper food.”

“Yeah, mean Da.”

“Mean Da indeed,” Mycroft called from the doorway, making both Sherlock and Greg jump. “Budge up, Gregory, share the baby- “Mycroft held his hands up in surrender before Sherlock could argue, “I know, I know, you’re not a baby.” Mycroft sighed as he joined Gregory kneeling by the tub.

“Where’s Darth Hormones?” Greg asked quietly as Mycroft swept the damp curls from Sherlock’s forehead. 

“Ha! He’s fetching some clean pyjamas, he’s getting in after this one.” Mycroft deposited a small pile of bubbles on Sherlock’s nose making him sneeze and giggle simultaneously. 

“John-John get in with me.” Sherlock insisted, tapping the water with his free hand.

“I’m not sure there’s room, dear.” 

“I make room.” Sherlock nodded, bringing his legs up towards his body.

Mycroft smiled fondly, “You’re being a very good boy,”

“Yeah,” Sherlock smiled,

“Well, good boy, are you going to let me wash your hair, hm?” Mycroft asked, fairly certain that this would lead to mutiny but persuaded that it was a risk work taking, given the crunchy nature of Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock frowned slightly, sure he was being conned, but he decided to play along, “Kay.”

“Oh, what a good boy!” Mycroft grinned and shuffled along to move closer to Sherlock’s head.

“Rub my head?” Sherlock asked sweetly, as much as he hated having his hair washed, Mycroft knew how to do it with the least horrendous side effects and it was worth it if Mycroft was going to declare him a good boy so vigorously. 

“Of course, darling.” Mycroft murmured as he started to gently pour water over Sherlock’s hair, careful of the boy’s eyes as he always was.

“John, you alright lad?” Greg called out of the open door, slightly concerned by the ongoing period of quiet. At that moment John reappeared, slumping against the door frame, crumped pajamas in one hand.

“Come and sit down, please.” Mycroft nodded his head in the direction of the closed toilet seat as he continued to wash Sherlock’s hair.

“Can I watch telly till you’re done?” John asked as he avoided eye contact by toeing the opposite side of the door frame.

“No, come and sit down.” Mycroft stopped washing Sherlock’s hair and transferred his attention to John, 

“Why?” John asked, suddenly exasperated by the whole situation.

“Because I’ve told you to, now.” Mycroft took one hand away from Sherlock’s head in order to click and point at the spot he wanted John to sit in.

“Keep rubbing!” Sherlock protested, kicking his feet lightly in the water, splashing Greg in the process.

“Easy, Lock.” Greg warned as he heaved himself off the floor,

“Yes, yes, alright little fusspot.” Mycroft half grumbled as he returned to washing Sherlock’s hair.

“Do as you’re told, John.” Greg took John’s elbow and pulled him into the bathroom.

“I was exceptionally lenient with you earlier, young man, I’d be very careful if I were you.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow in John’s direction without taking his hands from Sherlock’s scalp. 

John collapsed onto the closed toilet seat with more force than was necessary and muttered something under his breath.

“And that’s enough of that,” Greg grumbled as grabbed John’s arm again, yanking him out of the room,

“What did he say?!” Mycroft called after them,

“I’ll tell you later,” Greg called back as he marched in the direction of the living room, pulling the bathroom door shut as he went.

“What has gotten into you, lad?!” Greg scolded, pushing John in front of him until they came to a stop in the middle of the room.

“Nothing.”

“Well I hope for your sake it’s not nothing, because if it is and you’ve just said that- “

“I’m tired of being bossed around.” John cut off Greg’s rant as the older man was still jabbing a finger in the direction of the bathroom. Greg paused, took on what John had said and chuckled,

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Oh, you really are pushing your luck today.”

“It’s my flat!” John spat, suddenly furious.

“It is, but right now you’re not mature enough to be left on your own. So, either I tell you what to do here, or I drag you back to the townhouse and tell you what to bloody well do there!” Greg took a deep breath, he was far closer to losing his rag than he’d realised. 

“Don’t have to shout,” John mumbled to his shoes.

“No, you’re right, I don’t. I’m sorry. But in my defense, you are being a cheeky little sod.”

John laughed under his breath and Greg leaned in, poking him lightly in the ribs,

“What was that? Are you laughing at me, my boy?”

“Yeah,” John offered Greg a small smile,

“Insolent, is the word, Gregory.”

Greg jumped again, turning to face his husband who was standing in the doorway, trying to use the hood of Sherlock’s towel to dry his hair as the younger man fidgeted.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, love,” Greg sighed, clutching his heart.

“Sherlock stop- “Mycroft tried to stop Sherlock’s fidgeting but decided better of it, “Go to your room, Lock, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Kay!” Sherlock chirped, dashing away, out of Mycroft reach.

“Insolent, Gregory, he’s being insolent.” Mycroft turned his attention to John and Greg, “And I don’t know what he said in there, but whatever it was, he’s got a hiding coming.” Mycroft narrowed his eyes and pointed at John, while John shuffled where he stood, not taking his eyes from the floor.

“I know, love,”

“You or me?” Mycroft asked, tilting his head.

“Me, you go and deal with the fidget monster.”

“Very well.” Mycroft turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at John, “I’m very disappointed in you, young man.” John looked up for a second before dropping his gaze again and Mycroft swept out of the room.

“Do you have to?” John mumbled, not looking up at Greg, who let out a loud sigh,

“Yeah, I’m afraid I do. But first,” Greg stepped over to John and took a shoulder in each hand, “Do you want to talk about it, do you need a cry, or both?” Greg asked quietly, squeezing John’s shoulders as he spoke.

“Don’t want to talk.” 

Greg moved his right hand to the back of John’s head and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his other arm around him.

“Don’t want to cry either.” John croaked sounding on the edge of tears.

“I know you don’t. But forcing yourself not to isn’t getting you very far today, is it?”

John didn’t wail loudly, but Greg could feel tears seeping through his shirt.

“It’s alright lad, I’ve got you.”

What Greg had wanted to say was ‘I know,’ he’d been working the same case after all, but he’d learned a long while ago from his very useful husband that saying you understand doesn’t always help. He had been working the same case, and he was fairly sure that John was wrecked over the very same detail that would keep him awake that night, but John was dealing with it on his own, just as Greg would have to at some point. He was dreading the moment it fully hit Sherlock, but that would wait. 

At some point, John’s hands had made their way up onto the front of Greg’s shirt and he was clinging on, Greg rubbed the back of his head and swayed slightly back and forth, letting the flood pass. 

Had John been younger in that moment Greg would have attempted to relocate to the sofa, but at this age, John was slightly reluctant to accept physical affection and cuddling on the sofa would be a step too far. 

“How are we doing?” Greg asked gently, “Ready to come out yet? Hang on for as long as you like.” he was careful not to loosen his grip on John, having learned from previous encounters that John read that as Greg being done with the hug, which wasn’t the case at all. If Greg had it his way he would be able to hug John and Sherlock constantly, regardless of mental age or the number of people who may be watching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” John stepped back, wiping his nose and eyes on his sleeve. 

“No, you’re not, but you will be.”


	4. Chapter Four

Sherlock was sat on his bed, the hood of his towel hanging over his forehead. When Mycroft entered the room, Sherlock was tilting his head backwards as he tried to catch the hood with his teeth. He was doing an uncanny impression of a turtle as he snapped away, huffing in frustration each time he failed to reach the flannel cloth over his eyebrows. 

“Ah, look who’s still being a good boy,” Mycroft smiled fondly as he walked over to Sherlock’s chest of drawers. Mycroft’s arrival distracted Sherlock from his mission and he grinned as a result of the compliment. 

Mycroft took some sweatpants, a t-shirt, pants and socks from the drawer and walked over to Sherlock. “How’s your hair?” he asked as he pulled the towel back to reveal Sherlock’s damp but wild curls. “Almost dry.” Mycroft kissed Sherlock’s forehead and pushed his hair back. “Arms up,” Sherlock raised his arms and waited as his Pa pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Now then, I’ve had a look in your fridge, stand up,” once Sherlock was on his feet Mycroft helped him into his pants and trousers. “And there is nothing in there for little boys to eat, so, would you like to go to the shop with me?”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, and he furiously nodded his head, “Yeah!”

“Lovely, sit down please.”

Sherlock dropped back down onto the mattress, bouncing slightly on the springs as he did. Mycroft approached the wardrobe and pulled a sweatshirt from its hanger. “Now, you need to be on your very best behaviour.” 

Mycroft returned to Sherlock and pulled the sweatshirt over the younger man’s head, smiling as Sherlock popped out on the other side. 

“Is John-John coming?”

“No,” Mycroft helped guide Sherlock’s arms into the sweatshirt. “I think John needs some time with Da.”

“Oh, okay. Can I have sweeties?” Sherlock asked sweetly.

“I’ll think about it, if you’re very very good. Now let’s brush your hair.”

“No thank you.” Sherlock covered his hair with both hands, interlocking his fingers.

“Ah, ah, hands down please.” 

“No hairbrush.” Sherlock shook his head and Mycroft was internally frustrated with himself for thinking the relatively easy hair washing was a sign of progress on the Sherlock and his bloody hair front, apparently not. 

“Yes hairbrush, you’re not coming shopping with me looking like a drowned rat.” Mycroft mumbled as he took the hairbrush from Sherlock’s bedside table,

“Oh, why did the rat drown?” Sherlock asked sadly, and Mycroft repressed a chuckle.

“It’s just an expression, darling, no rats drowned.”

“Ever?”

“No, some rats will have drowned at some point in history,” Mycroft paused and locked eyes with Sherlock, “Are you being cheeky?”

“No,” Sherlock smirked as he shook his head,

“I thought so,” Mycroft grumbled as he started to brush the mop of hair in front of him.

“Oww!” Sherlock fussed but Mycroft persisted,

“I’m almost done, dear,”

“Not almosts enough!”

“You sound like you brother.” Mycroft muttered to himself as he finished brushing out the knots. “There, all done.”

“Finally!” Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest, trying to look older than his mental years but the way he swung his feet forwards and back gave him away. Mycroft peered down at him with one perfectly arched eyebrow,

“Do you want to come shopping?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded,

“Then drop the attitude young man. Teeth, come on,” Mycroft nodded a head in the direction of the door and Sherlock jumped up, racing off in the direction of the bathroom. Mycroft landed a smack on his backside with the hairbrush for good measure before following him,

“Whah was that for?! Sherlock shrieked, hands over his bum as he made his way down the hall,

“You know very well what. And inside voices please.” 

“I can do my own teef, don’t need help.” Sherlock frowned as Mycroft followed him into the bathroom,

“Yes you do need help.” Mycroft sighed, picking up Sherlock’s dinosaur toothbrush and applying a small amount of toothpaste, “It took me hours to clean the bathroom after the last time you told me you didn’t need help. Open.” Mycroft stood behind Sherlock and used the mirror as he carefully brushed the younger man’s teeth. Sherlock at least opened his mouth to be helpful, but he glared back at Mycroft through the mirror. With a loud sigh Mycroft rinsed the toothbrush off, “And you can wipe that look from your face, Sherlock, or you’ll be staying behind with Da. All done, coat and shoes.” 

Sherlock raced off again, this time for the front door, sliding across the floorboards in his socks.

“What are you up to, trouble?” Greg asked from the sofa. John was lying down next to him, his head at the other end and his feet in Greg’s lap. It was the closest thing to a cuddle that Greg could convince John to agree to. John’s eyes were glassy, fixed on the television screen that was playing the afternoons rugby match. 

“Shoppin’!” Sherlock grinned over at Greg as he pulled on his waterproof mac.

“There’s nothing in the fridge,” Mycroft answered Greg’s concerned glance, “I’m going to take this one with me.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice eh Lock? Time with Pa?” Greg asked as he leaned over the back of the sofa.

“Yeh!” 

“I’ll help with your shoes, Sherlock,” Mycroft pulled on his own coat. Greg was bowled over by how very ordinary the scene appeared, if you forgot that Sherlock was six foot tall. Mycroft crouched down and helped Sherlock into his shoes before fastening the Velcro. As he stood up he pulled a woolly hat over his head, partly to keep him from getting cold and partly to preserve his anonymity. 

“Give us a kiss before you go, champ.”

Sherlock dashed over and gave Greg a peck on lips. Mycroft moved over too, kissing his husband before leaning over the sofa and gently stroking the side of John’s face, “Be good for your Da,” he murmured lovingly, “I’ll be home soon.” John leaned into his touch and nodded, never looking away from the screen, “That’s my good boy. Right,” Mycroft straightened up and smoothed out his coat, “Hand, Lock.”

Taking Sherlock’s hand, he opened the door, ushering the younger man out he shut the door behind them and lead him down the stairs. 

“Where we going?”

“Oh, just down the road.”

“Not in the car?” Sherlock asked hopefully,

“Not this time.”

“Ohhh.”

“I know, how terrible, you’ll have to use those long legs of yours.” 

“You’ve got big legs too.” Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft spluttered,

“I beg your pardon?”

Sherlock blinked back at him confused,

“Long is the word you’re looking for dear, I haven’t had big legs since ’97.” With that Mycroft took Sherlock out onto the pavement and began the short walk along to the corner shop. 

Just moments later Mycroft was holding open the shop door for Sherlock who raced through, instantly pulling his hand away from Mycroft’s.

“Lock!” 

“Sweets!” Sherlock chirped loudly as he raced towards the sweet counter, picking up a large bag of strawberry laces.

“No sweets for you if you don’t hold my hand.” Mycroft admonished, plucking the bag from Sherlock’s grasp and putting it back on the shelf before taking Sherlock’s hand firmly, picking up a basket and leading him down the dried goods aisle. “Right, be a good boy and put some of that pasta in the basket.” Mycroft nodded his head towards his intended target and Sherlock eagerly put two boxes in the basket. “Very good boy.” Mycroft nodded, leading him further down the aisle. “Shredded wheat please.”

“Boring.” Sherlock grumbled, but did as he was told.

“It’s good for you, come on, milk please.”

Sherlock continued to fill up the basket as Mycroft instructed but too soon it was becoming a little too heavy for Mycroft to happily carry with one hand. He put down the basket and turned to Sherlock, “Now, I’m going to need both of my hands for a moment, will you be a good boy and stay right by my side?”

Anyone who knew Sherlock could see that this wasn’t going to go well. If Mycroft was honest with himself he knew it wasn’t going to, but he was ever hopeful.

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded,

“Good boy.” Mycroft released Sherlock’s hand, picked up the basket and continued to shop. For the most past Sherlock did as he was told and stood by his side, only occasionally wondering off for a moment before he was called back. It was all going smoothly until Mycroft heaved the basket onto the counter top by the till. He heard Sherlock giggle behind him followed quickly by the tinny tinkling sound of the bell that indicated the door had been opened. He spun around just in time to see Sherlock’s heels disappearing out of the door.

“Shit. Sorry.” Mycroft grumbled over his shoulder before taking off after his leggy little brother.

Luckily or unluckily for Mycroft, Sherlock’s usually graceful gate was hindered by the fact that he had been stuffing sweets, chocolate and trinkets into his pockets and sleeves for the past five minutes.

“Lock!” Mycroft roared after him, catching himself at the last second before he bellowed Sherlock’s full name after him, best not, given the circumstances. Sherlock giggled, not realising that Mycroft had closed the gap and gasped as he arm was gripped and he found himself being dragged back in the direction of the shop.

Before he was entirely sure what had happened, he was stood in front of the shop keeper as Mycroft unloaded his stolen goods onto the counter. Sherlock pouted as each of his treasures were discovered, finally when it was all piled up on the side Mycroft snapped, “Apologise!” 

“Sorry.” Sherlock grumbled to the floor. He wasn’t at all sorry, his chances of having sweets for tea were depleting rapidly.

“I’m so sorry about him, someone will be along to compensate you shortly.” And with that Mycroft dragged Sherlock from the shop. 

Once they were on the street Sherlock expected Mycroft to start shouting. When he didn’t he looked across and saw that his Pa was properly, really properly cross. 

Luckily for Sherlock, he was the cleverest boy in all of London and knew exactly the way to get out of the situation he found himself in. Going entirely floppy and making himself as heavy as possible, he collapsed onto the pavement. If Mycroft couldn’t drag him home, he couldn’t get in trouble, right? 

Mycroft muttered something in the direction of the grey clouds above before releasing his grip on Sherlock. He straightened up, shoved both hands into his pockets and span on his heel until he was standing directly over Sherlock. Keeping his legs straight and bending elegantly at the hip, he bent over until his nose was just inches from Sherlock’s face. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Mycroft murmured, keeping his voice low. “Get up this instant, or I will call your father down and he will bare your backside right here.” 

Mycroft had never referred to either Greg or himself as John and Sherlock’s father before, but the words escaped him before he could analyse them, regardless, they seemed to have the desired effect. The colour drained from Sherlock’s face and he jumped up so quickly he almost headbutted Mycroft in the process. There was a look in Mycroft’s eye that told him he bloody would do it and he could think of nothing worse.

Mycroft straightened up and calmly held out a hand, which Sherlock silently took before obediently walking alongside him the rest of the way home.

“Just you wait until your Da here’s about this William.” Mycroft ground out as he marched the younger man home. 

 

When the door closed behind Mycroft and Sherlock Greg looked over at John,

“John lad, you ready to talk?”

John shook his head, not taking his eyes from the television. 

“Alright then,” Greg sighed and patted John’s calf, “Over my lap.”

“What?” John finally looked away from the screen, rolling onto his back and looking up at Greg.

“I know, I know, but you are due a hiding and I haven’t got it in me to strap you after the week you’ve had.”

John looked down at his chest, picking at his t-shirt, “Do you have to?”

“You know I do.” 

“Embarrassing.”

“Really?” Greg asked half amused, he and John had both lost count of the number of times he’d smacked him, he couldn’t see how it would be embarrassing now.

“Your lap’s embarrassing.” John grumbled rolling back onto his side and staring at the TV again.

With a sigh Greg leaned over, with a hand on John’s hip he rolled him over onto his back again and looked at him.

“Would you rather I take my belt off? Because after the way you talked to your Pa it wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“No.” John pouted, not looking up at Greg.

“Right, so let’s get this over before your little brother gets back.” Greg took John’s hand in his and pulled him up into a sitting position. John reluctantly crawled across his lap before dropping down as heavily as possible. “Owf! John!” Greg landed a hard smack to his arse in response, “I know that was on purpose.” Greg grumbled,

“Mean.” John responded, hiding his face in his arms.

“Yeah, I know.” Greg lit into John for what felt like an eternity to the younger man, only stopping two thirds of the way through to yank down his pyjamas bottoms. By the time he was wrapping up, John was drumming his feet against the sofa cushions and letting out the occasional,

“Oww.”

“Alright, alright,” Greg returned John’s pyjamas to their usual position, “All done.” 

John lay still for a few moments, wiping his face on his sleeve and letting Greg gently stroke his back before pushing himself up off the sofa.

“You don’t have to move, kiddo.”

“Lock.” John grumbled, being spanked was embarrassing enough but he didn’t want the baby to see him over his Da’s knees, he’d never live that one down.

“Oh, I see, come ‘ere then.” Greg held out an arm and John clambered back onto the sofa kneeling alongside him. With Greg’s encouragement he rested his head on the older man’s shoulder and focused back on the television. “You’re a brave lad, you know?” Greg murmured as he ran his fingers through John’s hair.

John shook his head and made a negative sounding grunt. 

“Yeah you are.” Greg sighed, “But I’d better not hear you speak that way to your Pa again, got it?” 

“Yes sir.”

“That’s my boy.”

They stayed liked that for a few more minutes, until John startled at the loud thumping noise coming from the stairs,

“Well that sounds like it went well.” Greg grumbled, “Want to go to your room for a bit?”

John nodded, looking at the back of the door he knew was about to swing open.

“Go on then, I’ll come and get you as soon as we’re done.” Greg kissed John’s forehead and watched as John wandered out of the room in the direction of his bedroom, disappearing from sight just at the door banged open.

“Your boy- “Mycroft starting ranting before the door was even fully open, “Your boy-“

“Mine?” Greg asked with a chuckle, “What happened to ours?” 

“He- “Mycroft spluttered, shutting the door behind them whilst never releasing Sherlock’s hand. He took a breath to calm himself before continuing. “Tell Da what you did.”

Mycroft glared at Sherlock who stared at the floor.

“Sherlock!”

“Took stuff.” Sherlock mumbled, not looking up.

“Took stuff, took stuff, he shop lifted!” Mycroft roared.

“He-“Greg started once again, chuckle not forgotten and distracted by how adorable Sherlock looked in his raincoat. Then he processed what his husband had just said, “He what?!” Greg’s eyes snapped up to meet Mycroft.

“Yes, quite the light fingered little…” Mycroft trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock before looking back at Greg who, he was glad to see, was as pissed off as he’d expected. 

“Right-“ Greg pounced on Sherlock, grabbing him by the ear and dragging him back towards the sofa, “Shoplifting?!” 

“Ow, ow, ow!” Sherlock whined but it didn’t stop Greg from peppering his arse with smacks as he went. 

“Did you give it all-“ Greg cut himself off, looking way from Sherlock to Mycroft who was disappearing from the room, “Did he give it all back?” he called after him.

“Oh yes! I’m going to see my John.” Mycroft called back.

“Oh they’re yours when they’re well behaved.” Greg grumbled under his breath before he sat on the sofa, holding Sherlock to stand in front of him. “What is my job, Sherlock Holmes?” Greg asked his youngest as he glared up at him.

“P’lease.” Sherlock mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“Po-lease.” Sherlock overemphasised the word to show how annoyed he was, “Ow!” and Greg smacked him for it.

“Don’t you dare get lippy with me. I am a police officer and, Sherlock Holmes, we do not break the law! Why did you do it?”

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible and Greg smacked him again, “Speak up!”

“Wanted fings.” 

“You wanted things? You don’t get to take what isn’t yours just because you want it! If you were a big boy they’d be taking you down to the police station right now, you know that it’s wrong to steal things, don’t you?”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded, still not looking up at Greg. He did know it was technically wrong to take things that weren’t his, but he also knew that he would have gotten away with it had he not been with stupid law-abiding Pa, he’d managed to pocket some pretty awesome stuff too!

“Right, well you are in big trouble with me, my boy. Go and get the spoon.”

“Noooo.” Sherlock whined, stamping a foot lightly as he did.

“Yes, go on.” Greg nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen, he expected Sherlock to do as he was told but instead the younger man turned his pout up a few notches and stamped his foot again. “The hard way it is.” Greg grumbled before lunging his shoulder towards Sherlock’s stomach and standing up, throwing him over his shoulder in the process.

“Owf.” Sherlock made a noise as the air was knocked out of him and only came back into the moment as he felt his trousers being yanked down, then off his legs and discarded onto the floor. “Da!”

“Don’t you Da me!” Greg started to walk towards the kitchen, pulling Sherlock’s pants off as he went. “Clearly I need to be a bit tougher on you, lad, if you think you’ll get away with stealing, on my bloody watch!” 

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, maybe point out that his Da wasn’t allowed to swear in front of him but was knocked off course by the steady stream of smacks that started hitting his backside. “Ow!” He heard the sound of Greg rummaging through the kitchen drawers and panicked, trying to wriggle off of his shoulder. Greg only doubled down, taking a stronger hold on Sherlock’s legs and landing a few more smacks before returning to his search for the nasty wooden spoon. 

“Aha.” Greg found what he was looking for and landed a smack to the back of Sherlock’s thigh before returning towards the couch. “I think we’ve been giving you too much freedom, young man.” Greg lectured as he walked, “From now on,” and paused as he sat down, standing Sherlock up in front of him and keeping a firm grip on his hips, “That’s going to change. You’re not leaving my sight for a while, mister, and if you don’t buck your ideas up, it’s not going to be a very pleasant experience for you. Now over,” he didn’t give Sherlock a choice in the matter, pulling hard on his arm until he was lying across his lap. Thinking he’d heard enough of his own voice for the moment, and pretty sure he was going to end up using a string of swear words if he continued to rant, Greg fell silent and put all of his energy into turning Sherlock’s arse a painful red. In most situations he preferred to use his hand, but the wooden spoon Mycroft had purchased for the sole purpose of spanking packed a particularly nasty punch and given the nature of Sherlock’s misbehaviour he’d accept a little help in making an impression.

Sherlock went from whining to wailing to crying in almost record speed. It didn’t do him any good however as Greg continued with a steady stream of smacks. Eventually when Sherlock was quite quietly sobbing into his arms and the colour on his arse suggested he wouldn’t sit comfortably for a few days, Greg relented. He discarded the spoon on the coffee table with a thud and turned his attention to calming the now very sad boy over his lap. If John had been upset after the seeing to he received, Sherlock must have been in bits. While John’s arse had been warm Greg was fairly certain that unlike Sherlock’s it couldn’t comfortably power a small steam engine.

“Alright, alright lad, all done, all done now.” Greg patted Sherlock’s back with one hand and stroked his hair with the other. “Come on, stand up so I can get a look at you, and you can tell me how mean I am.”

Sherlock shook his head in his folded arms, not once revealing his face to Greg.

“Okay, you just lie there a bit longer.” 

Sherlock continued to cry, and Greg continued to pat and stroke and murmur calming things until Greg realised he couldn’t go on comforting him for a distance any longer. He needed to hold him, and he really wanted to see his face. 

“You’re breaking my heart love, can you come up for me?”

Sherlock shook his head again, but Greg began pulling him up anyway,

“Sorry Lock, I’m not taking no for an answer.” Finally, Greg caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s tear-soaked face and smiled fondly, “There he is, come on.” He pulled Sherlock onto his lap, creating a gap between his legs to deposit Sherlock’s on fire backside. Sherlock curled into Greg’s chest, gripping his shirt with one hand and sucking on the thumb of his other. Greg clucked his tongue affectionately as he held him close, “I know, I know you’re sore, but the worst is over. Once we’ve had a hug, you’re going down for a nap.” Sherlock shook his head, but Greg continued, “Yeah you are, you’ve worn yourself out love. But I’ll stay with you- “

Sherlock peered up at him and Greg smiled fondly,

“You’re not leaving my sight, remember.”

To Greg’s surprise Sherlock nodded in agreement before mumbling, “Cos I was norty.” Ah, that little sod, even when he didn’t know what he was doing, he bloody knew what he was doing. 

“Lock, did you get in extra trouble, so you’d get extra attention?” Greg prodded quietly, and Sherlock knitted his eyebrows together as he thought before answering honestly,

“Not sure.” 

“Yeah me neither.” Greg planted a kiss on Lock’s forehead before nudging him off his lap, “Find your pants, I can’t have you walking around half naked,”

Sherlock giggled as he pointed to his pants on the floor, “Da do it?”

“Yeah alright,” Greg grumbled as he kneeled down,

“Careful cos of ouches.”

“I know, I know, I can feel the heat coming off your bum for here boy.” Greg winked up at him as Sherlock gave a teary nod and winced as his pants were pulled back into position. “Come on, give me your hand and we’ll go and find Pa and John.”

“Pa’s really, really mad Da.” Sherlock mumbled from behind his thumb as Greg lead him towards the bedroom.

“I’m sure he was, but he won’t be cross now.”

“No?”

“No, I’m dealing with you, right?”

“Right.” Sherlock nodded.

Greg paused outside of the closed bedroom door and took Sherlock’s face in his hands, “You might be a troublemaker, but you’re our troublemaker.”

Sherlock gave a teary nod,

“And after your nap, you’re sitting your bum in the corner.”

“You’re very mean.” Sherlock pouted.

“I know.” Greg sighed as he released his hold on Sherlock and opened the bedroom door.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just a short fluffy thing really.

Greg knocked gently on the bedroom door and Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around his Da’s as he slowly pushed the door open. They stepped into the room to see Mycroft lying on the bed, his back flush with the headboard and a dozing John clinging to his side, his head resting on Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft smiled kindly at them both but raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock.

“Lock’s got something to say, haven’t you?”

Sherlock peered out from behind Greg’s shoulder and nodded, “Sorry Pa.” he mumbled. 

“Are you ever going to do such a naughty thing again, Sherlock?” Mycroft prodded.

Sherlock shook his head quickly, “No, promise.” 

“Apology accepted young man. Come here to me.” Mycroft beckoned him with the hand that wasn’t stroking John’s back. Sherlock glanced up at Greg,

“Go on,” he nudged the younger man in the direction of the bed and Sherlock shuffled over, allowing himself to be pulled up onto the mattress by Mycroft’s hand, settling comfortably on his unoccupied side. “He’s not all in the clear with me though,” Greg ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe, looking between Mycroft and Sherlock, “If he wants to break the law, he’s going to find out what it’s like to have a copper on his case.” 

Sherlock whimpered sadly against Mycroft’s shoulder making him chuckle,

“Not leaving my sight,” Greg moved from the doorway towards the chair in the corner of the room, stopping by the bed to give Sherlock’s backside a pat as he went. 

“Ah,” Mycroft smirked at Greg and planted a kiss on Sherlock’s curls, “On parole, are we?”

Sherlock fussed against his Pa’s shoulder again, not remembering his last time on ‘Da Parole’ fondly. 

“Yep.” Greg smiled at his husband as he dropped into the seat, “I think someone needs a nap.” He nodded his head towards Sherlock who was valiantly hiding his face from him. Sherlock shook his head.

“On no, I agree with Da.” Mycroft patted his back, “I think we’d better get you and your brother into some comfy clothes.” 

“John-John nap?” Sherlock finally came out of his hiding place as he peered up at Mycroft.

“Yes, John needs a nap too. John dear?” Mycroft stroked John’s back before taking a hold of his shoulder and rocking him gently. “John?”

John blinked a couple of times before looking up at Mycroft, it took a couple of seconds for him to register where he was before breaking out into a broad grin. “Pa!” he mumbled sleepily.

“Hello tired boy,”

John’s eyes fluttered across to Sherlock, “Lock!” he reached out a hand, grabbing in the general direction of his brother’s face. 

“John-John!” Sherlock grinned sitting up in excitement at the arrival of his playmate. He interlocked his fingers with his brothers and the two boys quickly began to tussle with each other, giggling as they did. 

“Easy now, lads,” Greg chuckled as he stood up from his chair, “It’s nap time.” 

“Na-huh I jus napped!” 

“John, your eyes have been closed for no more than five minutes.”

“Yeh ages!” John argued around a yawn,

“Thassa long time.” Sherlock nodded in agreement with his brother. 

“That’s a long time for a time-out, not a long time for a nap.” Greg mumbled as he walked around to Sherlock’s side of the bed, “Come on champ, what PJ’s do you fancy? Wizards, race cars, what’ll it be?” He took Sherlock’s hand, pulling him towards the side of the bed before crouching down and starting to take his shoes off. 

“John you too, shuffle over and sit next to your brother.” 

John did as he was told, crawling across the mattress and allowing Mycroft to stand and make his way to the chest of drawers. 

“Ello John-John,” Sherlock grinned as he brother suddenly appeared next to him and John slumped against his shoulder.

“See, we know sleepy boys when we see them.” Greg smiled up at John as he yawned into Sherlock’s t-shirt. 

“Here, dear.” Mycroft handed Greg Sherlock’s pyjamas and put the pile of John’s next to him. John glanced down to see which pyjamas Mycroft has picked for him,

“No Pa! Noooo! Big boy!” John went to stand but Mycroft gently pushed him back down,

“Yes, you are, you are a very big boy, arms up please.”

John crossed his arms across his chest as tightly as possible, “No! Want pants lie Lock!” 

“You are wearing pants, they’ve just got a bit more padding. Come on now, arms up.”

“No!”

“I don’t think you spanked hard enough, Gregory.” Mycroft mumbled to his husband who chuckled,

“Apparently not.”

“Now, John, do you want to sit in the corner or are you going to listen to me?” Mycroft asked in his most serious ‘dad voice’, arching an eyebrow with it. 

John thought very hard about it, “Why Lock goh pants?” he mumbled through a frown.

“Because Sherlock is a little bit older than you, dear. You don’t have to use it, it’s just in case.” 

“Come on John lad, listen to your Pa, we’ve had enough arguments today eh?”

“Is okay John-John, you’re a big boy like me.” Sherlock patted his little brother on the shoulder. Mycroft and Greg shared a smile.

“Yeh?” John asked with wide eyes.

“Course.” Sherlock nodded seriously, and John softened, looking up at Mycroft he raised his arms above his head,

“There’s our good boys.” Greg chuckled as he ruffled Sherlock’s hair and Mycroft gently removed John’s t-shirt. “What ‘av we got here,” Greg opened up the folded pyjama set Mycroft had chosen for Sherlock,

“Brella’s!” Sherlock grinned,

“Really, Myc?” Greg asked with a smirk.

“They looked comfortable.”

“Umbrellas, just like your Pa eh?” Greg smiled at Sherlock as he pulled the t-shirt over his head. 

“Was I goh?” John mumbled around the fingers in his mouth as he lay on his back half naked. 

“You’ve got pineapples,” Mycroft smiled as he leaned over John and gently removed his fingers from his mouth, “Do you know why?”

“Nah!” John shook his head with a smile,

“Because you’re so sweet.” Mycroft kissed a giggling John on the tip of his nose, “Stay right here, I’m going to get you a dummy,” he patted John’s bare stomach and moved away. John instantly sat up right and reached his arms out,

“Pa… Pa!” John whined, suddenly upset at the unexpected absence of his Pa.

“Easy, love,” Greg reached across and steadied him with a hand on his chest, “Here ‘e is, see?” Greg grinned at Mycroft as he returned before turning his attention back to Sherlock.

“Here you go,” Mycroft sat next to John on the bed and just managed to slip the pacifier into John’s mouth before he climbed into his lap, hiding his face in Mycroft’s neck and clinging onto his shirt for dear life. “Oh my darling, I was only gone for a second or two.” John whined in disagreement, “It’s okay, it’s alright,” Mycroft murmured as he gently rocked back and forth. “Let's get you warm and comfy, then we’ll lie down for a nap, hm?”

“Pa,” John cried into Mycroft’s neck,

“I’m not going anywhere my love, it’s alright. Once you’re all wrapped up in your pyjamas, Da is going to fetch us a warm bottle and we’re going to have a cuddle and a nap together. How does that sound?” 

John nodded but made no moves to release his hold on Mycroft, so the older man reached behind him and picked up his t-shirt, realising he was going to have to dress John while he was in his lap. 

“There we go,” Greg stood up straight and ruffled Sherlock’s curls, “Come on champ, your brother needs a bottle, do you want milk too?” Greg held out a hand and Sherlock took it, standing up from the bed and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Inna big boy cup?” 

“Sippy cup?” Greg asked, just checking what Sherlock really meant by ‘big boy’ cup, there was no way he was letting him use a glass.

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded furiously.

“Of course, you can even pick which one!” Greg grinned at Sherlock before winking at his busy husband and leading Sherlock from the room, “A big boy cup for the big boy.”

“Okay,” Mycroft thought out loud and he looked between the lap full of baby and the pull up in his hand, “How are we going to do this, hm?” he asked John, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give a helpful answer. “Right,” Mycroft hooked his free arm under John’s knees and lifted them up onto the bed, “Bum up,” Much to Mycroft’s relief, now that John had some purchase to push himself up he was willing to be relatively helpful, lifting his hips and allowing Mycroft to pull off his pants before repeating the action while his Pa pulled up the pull up. “There we go, such a good boy, didn’t even need to leave my lap. Now the last bit,” he picked up the pyjama bottoms and asked John to lift his hips one last time as he pulled them on. “There, all dressed, now come on, let’s get comfy.” 

John refused to move from Mycroft’s lap meaning he had to shuffle up the bed towards the headboard with the full weight of his man-child on his lap before turning them both sideways, so they could recline properly. Once John was settled, lying with his feet tucked up by Mycroft’s side at the headboard and his body curled onto Mycroft’s chest so he was lying facing his Pa and his head resting in the crook of Mycroft’s left arm, he finally looked up at him.

“Pa!” he smiled sleepily from behind the pacifier.

“Hello my dear.” Mycroft brushed his fingers through John’s hair with his free hand.

“Bah.” John patted his mouth (and the pacifier in it) with the palm of his hand.

“Yes darling, Da’s just getting your bottle.” 

John smiled and reached out a hand to his Pa’s face, 

“Yes, that’s my nose. Where’s John’s nose?”

John quickly moved his hand to tap at his own nose, he knew the answer to that one.

“That’s my clever boy, and here’s your bottle- No, don’t strain your neck darling,”

Greg and Sherlock appeared at the door, Greg handed over John’s warm bottle while Sherlock trotted behind him, holding his ‘big boy cup’ in both hands as though it was the most important artifact he’d ever seen. 

“Ello love,” Greg cooed down at John, gently stroking his face before moving around the bed, “I’m pulling out the stay over bed, Lock, jump up next to Pa,”

“Kay,” Sherlock happily did as he was told, settling on the other side of John’s legs before resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “John-John’s little huh Pa?”

“Yes, you’re both little, but John is littler.”

“Am I a good big bruvva?”

“Oh you’re the very best.”

Sherlock blushed and nodded his head on Mycroft’s shoulder as he started drinking his milk, watching as John latched onto the bottle that Mycroft was holding. The three of them valiantly ignored the grunting sounds Greg made as he pulled out the rollaway bed from underneath them, swearing under his breath as he tried to yank the legs into position.

“Gregory, watch your mouth in front of the babies- Yes Sherlock, sorry, in front of the baby and his big brother.”

“Aha! Done.” Greg grinned with a clap of his hands, startling both Sherlock and John, 

“Gregory!” Mycroft hissed before glancing down at John,

“Sorry, sorry!” Greg held up his hands in apology and quickly climbed up onto the now extended bed, pulling Sherlock towards him as he did.

“It’s just silly Da, my darling, it’s alright.” Mycroft murmured quietly to John who was starting the fuss and wriggle, “No, no, no, no fussing you, you’re fine,” Mycroft half sang in an attempt to get him to settle. When that didn’t work, and John tried to sit up with an angry little grunt Mycroft pressed him back down and held him in place with his bottle-holding hand, “It’s time for John to lie down and drink his bottle,” he murmured kindly, “I’ve got you.”

Next to them Sherlock was leaning on Greg’s shoulder finishing his milk, his eyes dropping closed every few seconds.

“You’re a tired monkey, eh?” Greg chuckled but Sherlock shook his head with the little energy he had left. “Yeah, you are.” Greg took the empty cup from Sherlock and put it on his free side, pulling the boy to lie down with his head on his shoulder. Greg ‘rested’ his eyes too, knowing Mycroft would handle the baby. He and Sherlock dozed off to the sound of Mycroft holding a conversation with a silent John. 

“Yes, you are going to finish your bottle young man.   
Because you’ve barely eaten and this will help.   
Oh don’t get grumpy with me, come on.  
That’s a good boy.  
Close your eyes sweetheart.   
Was that a smile? I think that was a smile.  
Almost all gone.  
There we are, right you,”

Mycroft put the empty bottle on the bedside table before moving John into a new position, lying on his front with his head turned to the side under his Pa’s chin, his chest on Mycroft’s chest, his legs curled up in between Mycroft’s and his arms tucked into Mycroft’s side. As he dozed off Mycroft patted his back and before long the four of them were fast asleep.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, just more fluff really.

Forty minutes of napping past before Mycroft was woken by the insistent tapping of a hand against his arm. He tried to ignore it but the tapping grew heavier and heavier and finally, he opened one eye to find that John was no longer where he had left him, dozing happily against his chest. For a split second, he panicked before his eyes followed the tapping and found John standing by the side of the bed. He had found his pacifier somewhere (most probably on the floor but Mycroft tried not to think about that) and was frowning behind it. He was currently very cross, a strange kind of furious that only an…eighteen-month-old if Mycroft had to guess, can be. 

As soon as he saw his Pa’s eyes were open he grabbed his hand and yanked,

“John,” Mycroft whispered as sternly as possible only to receive an angry grunt followed by a foot stomp that was luckily muffled by John’s socked feet. Deciding to leave Greg and Sherlock to rest for a few more minutes Mycroft stood and rather than allow the angry toddler to lead him out of the room as the younger man intended, he checked his stance and hoisted John up before walking out of the room.

Once they were in the living room and safely away from the dozing pair in the bedroom, Mycroft put John down. However, John wasn’t happy with the new arrangement, not happy at all and clung onto Mycroft’s shoulders as he tried to climb up his shins.

“No, no, no, John-“

“Up, up!” John whined from behind the pacifier, Mycroft thought about telling him no, but instead lifted him once again before carrying him to the sofa where he sat down.

“What is all this about then?” Mycroft asked, once he was seated with John straddling his lap, however John was disinclined to answer as he was currently far, far, far too far away from his Pa. With a half sob, half hiccup he buried his face in Mycroft’s neck. “Okay, darling, hold on,” It was a bit of a struggle, but Mycroft managed to reposition John, so he was sitting sideways in his lap, his face never leaving its spot buried in Mycroft’s neck. In the new position, Mycroft could wrap his arms around John and rock him, which he did. “There, is that better?” 

John finally lifted his head with a sad sob, looking back at Mycroft with wide, sad eyes, his face wet with tears.

“Oh, my love,” Mycroft sighed, kissing a wet forehead and stroking John’s hair, “I’ve got you now, it’s all alright.”

John patted the pacifier in his mouth,

“Would you like a bottle?”

John shook his head with an angry grunt.

“No? Okay, what do you want?” Mycroft moved to gently pull the pacifier from John’s lips only for John to cover it with his hand and shake his head, whining in frustration that his Pa wasn’t listening. “Darling I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want.” Mycroft was furious with himself, he wasn’t completely fluent in baby, yet. 

John gently reached out and tapped Mycroft’s lips with his fingers, then tapped his own cheek. 

“Oh, ohhhh,” Mycroft pulled John back to his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek, then the forehead, “Kisses for my John, hm?”

At that John melted into him and they sat in silence, with Mycroft holding him close, gently rocking him and every few seconds landing a kiss on his forehead or cheek or nose. 

Ten minutes later John was happily resting against Mycroft, not sleeping but not entirely awake either. He was still sad and let out a sad whine or cry occasionally but was otherwise settled.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and Greg lead out a still half-asleep Sherlock,

“Look John, it’s Da and Lock.” Mycroft murmured, half in the hope it would keep John from another wave of tears and half to show Greg that he didn’t need to tiptoe. 

“Da, Da, Da,” John babbled, mostly to himself,

“Da, Da, Da indeed.” Mycroft agreed in a faux-serious tone, making John smile broadly behind the plastic in his mouth. “Ah! A smile, you get even more kisses when you smile, I’m afraid.” Mycroft plastered several kisses all over John’s face making him giggle before he collapsed back against him with a loud sigh. 

Greg stretched and looked over at his husband, “Tea, love?”

“Oh, please.” 

“Course, come on trouble, corner time for you.” Greg ordered the older of their two boys, who was eyeing up the pile of Lego still discarded on the floor from earlier.

“Ohhhh.” Sherlock sighed, turning on his most severe of pouts.

“Yeah, you thought your old Da had forgotten, didn’t you? Go on, no moving until I call you out.” Greg patted Sherlock’s bum the entire way to the corner, “Parole, my boy, but we can play with your Legos after your time out.” He landed a kiss on Sherlock’s curls before going to the kitchen to make himself and his husband a much-earned brew. 

A couple of minutes later Greg put Mycroft’s mug on the coffee table, “There you are, love.”

“Thank you darling.”

And put his down next to it before turning to John, “Ello lovely boy,” John gave a tired, teary smile. “I know Pa’s kisses are magic but how about one from Da too?”

John nodded, he definitely wanted a kiss from Da too. Greg landed an obnoxiously loud kiss on John’s forehead, almost blowing a raspberry in the process,

“Gregory,” Mycroft half chastised, half chuckled,

“What do we think, John, does Pa get a kiss too?”

John giggled and nodded earning him a wink from Greg, who without turning around pointed a finger at Sherlock, “Corner, Lock.” Sherlock let out a loud sigh, he had indeed turned around to see the incredibly gross spectacle of Da and Pa kissing. Sherlock turned back to face the corner and Greg planted a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s lips before making his way over to free the prisoner. 

“Right then you,” Greg turned Sherlock around, “Do we break the law, Master Holmes?”

“No Da.” Sherlock pouted,

“No we don’t. Right, you can go and play, but remember, you're on parole so no trouble.”

Sherlock took off in the direction of his Legos and Greg called after him, “Do you want juice, Lock?”

“Yeh!”

“Yes please, Sherlock.” Mycroft corrected,

“Yeh please, Da.”

“Good lad.”

“John-John play, Pa?” Sherlock asked from his new spot, sat cross-legged amongst his many Legos.

“I don’t know, John, would you like to play?” Mycroft asked the boy in his lap, instead of an answer John held out a hand to Lock, “Can John hold one of your Lego’s dear?”

“Oh, yeh!” Sherlock scanned the pile for a good one and jumped up, scuttling over to John and delicately placing a yellow brick in his hand. John grinned and held his closed fist an inch from Mycroft’s face,

“Ah!” 

“Oh, look at that John, say thank you to your brother,”

“Koo.” John babbled,

“Issa gold wun John, so’s its special for you.” Sherlock nodded before hopping back to his toys. 

“Isn’t that lovely John?” 

John nodded and at the same time tried to put the small brick in his mouth, only to be stopped by the plastic in the way,

“No, no, that’s Sherlock’s toy, you have to look after it.” Mycroft said firmly as he pulled John’s hand away from his mouth. John instantly grew frustrated and started to huff and fidget. “We don’t put toys in our mouth, John Hamish.” At that, John dropped the Lego onto the floor and frowned at Mycroft, “John, no.”

“Is okay Pa,” Sherlock chirped, jumping up and gathering the brick, he showed it to Mycroft, “See, is not broken.”

“Oh phew! You’re being a very good boy, Lock, thank you for sharing.” Mycroft reached over to pat Sherlock's arm,

“John-John too little for Lego’s.” Sherlock nodded seriously and took his ‘gold’ toy back to his pile. 

Mycroft smiled at Sherlock before turning his attention back to John who was still fussing and annoyed about something that Mycroft couldn’t understand, to show how annoyed he was he shoved Mycroft hard, which startled his Pa but luckily not his Da who had just handed Sherlock his juice.

“Ay, ay!” Greg was with them in two strides, landing a light but noticeable smack to John’s backside, John crumbled against Mycroft’s chest,

“Gregory-“

“No, love, that’s not okay.” Greg dropped down onto the sofa next to them and reached for the baby, “Give ‘im here,”

“I don’t-“

“I’m his Da, he’ll be fine, come on bruiser.” With that, Greg pulled John from Mycroft’s lap to his own, “You can go back to Pa in a second, love, but look at me,” John reluctantly did. Greg was holding him upright, straddling his lap, it wasn’t half as comfortable as cuddling up to Mycroft’s chest and he knew he was in trouble. Greg took each of John’s hands in his own, “Don’t smack your Pa, or I’ll smack your bum.” Greg kept it simple, considering John’s current headspace. “Okay, you got a hug for your Da before I give you back to Pa?” John nodded and leaned into Greg’s chest, going floppy when Greg wrapped his strong arms around him. “There’s a good lad, you go back to Pa, I’m going to get you some water.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft sighed in relief, he was sure John had cried out all of the water in his body. John crawled back into Mycroft’s lap, sitting sideways with his back against the arm of the sofa, watching as Greg poured water into a bottle for him. “That’ll be nice, hm? A nice bottle of water.” John nodded, resting his head back against Mycroft’s shoulder, watching as Greg returned and reaching out for his bottle,

“Mine?”

“Yep, that’s yours love.”

John took the bottle in two hands and showed it to Mycroft, “Oh, look at that, would you like to hold it?”

John nodded,

“Okay, let me take your dummy,”

John frowned, unhappy with that deal,

“You can have a nice clean one when you’ve finished your bottle.” John frowned harder and shook his head, Mycroft was about to come to a compromise when the far more no-nonsense Gregory plucked the dummy from John’s mouth with a finger and guided the bottle up into his empty lips, John instantly started drinking with a relaxed sigh.

“There, lad. No arguing with your Pa.” Greg winked at the baby and stroked his hair before disappearing to find a clean pacifier. 

“Da!” Sherlock called, “Can you play wif me cos John-John’s too little?”

“Sure I can, I’ll be two secs, where are the dummies, lad?”

“Inna cupboard.”

“Which one?”

“Dunno.”

Mycroft chuckled as Greg continued to search the kitchen, when he returned he put the new pacifier on the table by Mycroft’s side, out of John’s line of sight, picked up the television remote, turning on the t.v in the background and lowered himself down onto the floor next to Sherlock. 

They all sat and played quietly for few moments, Mycroft watching at the water drained from John's bottle. When he had finished half of the water in his bottle, John decided he’d had enough and threw it on the floor,

“John-“Greg started from the floor but Mycroft held up a hand to tell him he had it. Wrapping an arm around the waist of a now wriggly John, Mycroft pulled him closer and gently turned his head to face him.

“We don’t throw things, John Hamish.”

“Down, dow’ down,” John chanted, trying to pull himself to freedom,

“I’ll let you down when you sit still and listen.” Mycroft answered calmly. 

“Down!” 

“I can wait.” Mycroft smirked over the babies head at his husband who was busy building a train with Sherlock. John fussed and fidgeted for a couple of moments before he realised Mycroft wasn’t letting him go, he turned to face him with an A grade pout. “Are you listening now?”

“Mm.”

“Good, we don’t throw things, do we John?”

“Nn.” John grunted and shook his head.

“Good boy, would you like your dummy before I put you down?”

John forgot his strop and grinned before patting his lips,

“Mm, I thought so.” Mycroft leaned behind him, took the pacifier and slipped it between John’s lips. The younger man sucked a couple of times before smiling angelically at his Pa. “Alright then,” Mycroft chuckled as he loosened his hold and helped John down onto the floor, “You play nicely.”

The second John was on the floor he crawled over the Greg and Sherlock,

“Look who it is!” Greg grinned, ruffling John’s hair. John giggled and nestled his feet in the pile of Lego in front of him, before kicking is heels against the floor, giggling loudly as Legos scattered around, “John.”

“John-John! Don’t!”

“Maybe I should find some John friendly toys,” Mycroft mumbled as he pushed himself up from the sofa and went in search of something the keep the baby busy. 

John pushed himself up onto his knees and moved to grab the train Sherlock and Greg were building, but Greg quickly picked it up and put it on top of the television, igniting fury in the little man.

“Nah!” John huffed,

“John-John’s a baby, he can’t play wif my toys.” Sherlock grumbled, picking up an armful of Lego and holding it close to his chest.

“Sherlock, play nicely.”

“I yam! He’s bein’ bad.”

“He’s not ‘being bad’, he’s just being a bit naught-“ Greg cut himself off as he realised John was no longer sat amongst the toys, he jumped up and went after him, finding him sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the contents of the draw he had just emptied. 

“Da! You’re playin wif me!” Sherlock shouted, as he stomped over to see what was going on.

“I’ll be right back, Lock, go and play nicely.” Greg reached down to take John’s hands.

“Stop sayin that! I yam!” 

“Sherlock, stop shouting.” Mycroft ordered as he walked into the room holding a large soft ball that lit up and made sounds when rolled and squeezed, 

“I wannit!” Sherlock grabbed the ball from Mycroft’s hands, taking off across the room to add the ball to his pile of toys. 

“Sherlock! Give that back to John,”

“Tell ‘im to be nice.” Sherlock pouted.

“He’s got a point love.” Greg added as he tried to pry a whisk from John’s hand.

“Mine!” John huffed as he yanked the whisk out of Greg’s reach.

“Everybody hush!” Mycroft called over the noise in the room and everyone fell silent. It had been a long day, everyone was just about at breaking point and he could see that this was going to go downhill very quickly if he didn’t step in. “Everyone is hungry, so it’s time for dinner. Sherlock, can you carry on being a very good boy and put your toys away? Put the train somewhere safe and you and Da can work on it tomorrow. Gregory, help the baby wash up and put him in his seat. I’m going to start on dinner.”

“Ay, ay, captain.” Greg winked from the floor before he started trying to hoist John off the floor.

Mycroft moved to the stove and was emptying a tin of beans into a saucepan when Sherlock tugged on his sleeve, “Pa, can I play after tea?” 

“After dinner you’re going to pick a story.” Mycroft answered calmly, kissing Sherlock’s cheek.

“I’m picking?”

“Yes, you and Da and going to have special story time, just the two of you.”

“Really?”

“That will be nice, wont it?”

“Any story?”

“Within reason.” Mycroft chuckled.

“Nothing too clever for daft old me, eh Lock?” Greg called as he tried to hold John still for long enough to click his tray into place. 

“Wheres Pa be?” Sherlock asked sweetly.

“Where will I be?”

“Yeh?”

“I’ve got to give the baby a bath, wish me luck.” Mycroft winked at his eldest, making him giggle, “Be a good boy and put your toys away for me.”

“I’ll try.” Sherlock nodded and hopped away.

“One of us will have to go to the shop tomorrow Gregory.”

“Or we could take them home?”

“Maybe, we’ll see how they are in the morning. Whatever makes them most comfortable.”

“What ‘av you found for dinner?” Greg rinsed a cloth under the tap before returning to John,

“A tin of beans, there’s some bread for toast.”

“That’s all that’s left in the flat? Those two, I swear I’m going to give them such a smack when I see them.”

“Yes, me too.” 

“John, no, John, hold still. Alright, alright face done, just your hands now. Are you going to be alright giving this one a bath on your own?”

“I’ll manage,” Mycroft sighed, “Sherlock deserves some special attention too. Speaking of,” Mycroft moved the beans from the heat and turned to look for the child, “Sherlock?” 

“All done!” Sherlock beamed from beside his toy box. There were still Legos all over the floor, but the majority had been lovingly put away and the train he and Greg had been building was on the mantle. 

“Such a good boy,” Mycroft grinned, “Come and let Da was your hands.” 

“Can I have my toasts in sol-jas?” 

“Of course you can.” Mycroft took the toast from the toaster as it popped up and buttered it. Slicing some into soldiers for Sherlock and John and halving a couple of slices for himself and Greg. He dolloped some beans onto plastic plates for the children and used the two good plates in the flat for him and Greg. “Right, everyone sit down. Dinner time.” 

“I’ll handle the monkey, love.” Greg kissed Mycroft on the cheek as he took his and John’s plates and sat down. Mycroft sat and tapped the seat next to him,

“Come on Lock.” 

“You can have it back once you’ve eaten.” Greg soothed an upset John as he grabbed for the pacifier now out of his reach, “Open up,”

“Pa lap?” Sherlock asked sweetly. Mycroft smiled to himself, John was rarely this small and whenever he was Sherlock usually tried to prove himself ‘a big boy’, however every now and then he would grow jealous of the extra attention John received. 

“If you sit in my lap will you be a good boy and let me feed you?” At least if he fed Sherlock there was a chance he wouldn’t end up covered in food and would avoid a hateful second bath. If a second bath was necessary, there was no way Sherlock was going to bed before screaming the flat down.

“Imma good boy.” Sherlock nodded. 

Greg barked out a laugh and Mycroft kicked him under the table. Sherlock missed the wordless discussion as he was busy climbing onto Mycroft’s lap.

“Can I just ‘av toasts, Pa?”

“Noo, beans are good for you.”

“Don’t like ‘em. Toast please?” Sherlock opened his mouth and Mycroft dunked a piece of bread in the beans before lifting it to Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock slammed his mouth shut. “Sherlock, open up.”

“Lock, the baby’s eating his dinner, be a good boy for Pa.” Greg mumbled as he spooned some beans into John’s open mouth, “That’s my boy, John.” 

Sherlock leaned into Mycroft, “Really don’t like beans Pa, please jus’ toast?”

Mycroft sighed, “What am I going to do with you, hm?” he looked the boy up and down for signs of deception, when he saw none he sighed again. “Okay darling, but you’ll eat my toast too.”

Greg sighed to himself, someone was dangerously close to Greg Parole if he wasn’t careful.

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded and Mycroft fed him some toast.

“Good boy.” 

“Uh-uh!” John grunted from his seat, turning his head away from Greg’s offered spoon.

“Don’t you want any more?”

“Nah.” John shook his head and Greg nodded in understanding, downing the spoonful himself.

“Okay, lets get you cleaned up.”

“Mine, my, mine!” John was straining in his seat reaching for his dummy.

“Let me wash your face first, lad.”

“No mine!”

“John.” Mycroft warned but John didn’t listen, slamming his palms on the tray in front of him,

“Mine!” 

“You, mister,” Greg started as he wiped John’s face with a cloth, ignoring his fussing, “Are very close to a second smacked bum of the day. Behave yourself.” 

“Someone might need a change, Gregory, I didn’t expect him to be so young.”

“I don’t think he expected it either, which is half the problem.” Greg sighed as he pulled out the tray holding John in place, he instantly scrabbled for the dummy, but Greg used the advantage of it being John and not Sherlock who was so little, hoisting him up onto his hip with relative ease. “Yes, I’m bringing your dummy. Stop fussing or mean old Da will think you need a time out.” 

John thumped his head onto Greg’s shoulder and let out a whine of frustration.

“I know, I know lad. Come on.” 

“Last piece, Lock.” Sherlock opened his mouth and dutifully finished his dinner.

“Good boy. Up you hop, lets wash our hands and you can start thinking about what you want your story to be.”

Sherlock stood and walked to the sink, waiting for Mycroft to help him wash his hands, “I don’t want to sleep by my own.”

“You’re getting your words all mixed up today, aren’t you,” Mycroft chuckled.

“Yam?”

“A little bit, but that’s quite alright. You won’t be sleeping on your own my dear.”

“No?”

“No, we’ll all sleep together. You and John will go to bed first because your bedtime is earlier, but me and Da will be sleeping with you.” 

“Maybe.”

“Hm, what do you mean maybe?”

“I don’t like that.”

“What don’t you like, darling?”

“You not being there when I’m falling asleeps.”

“I’ll be there when you fall asleep, and when you wake up, and I’ll be there inbetween too.” 

“Okay maybe.” Sherlock nodded as if that was a clear response. Mycroft dried his hands for him and Sherlock shuffled off to find a book for Greg to read to him. 

“Okay maybe.” Mycroft chuckled as he started washing up. 

The wonder of a simple dinner is the general lack of tidying up required. It only took Mycroft a minute or two to clear the kitchen, not even enough time for Sherlock to have decided on a book. Greg carried a now dry and much less fussy John back into the room. He’d clearly been crying but looked very tired and was now completely naked, except for the hooded towel Greg had wrapped him in.

“Why is the baby naked, Gregory?”

“I thought you were giving him a bath?”

“I am but-“

“But nothing, he’s only little, you don’t mind, do you lad?” Greg asked,

“Nah!” John grinned.

“We’ve already picked out your PJs haven’t we?” John nodded, “They’re in the bathroom.”

“Da, ‘ow many stories can I have?” Sherlock called over from the bookcase.

“Two, Sherlock.” Mycroft answered instead.

“Nooo, I asked Da.”

“Yes, and your Da is a soft touch, two stories Sherlock, no more.” 

“Okay.” Sherlock sighed,

“Soft touch, am I?” Greg chuckled as he handed John over to Mycroft. “I’ll show you soft touch.” He landed a hard smack on Mycroft’s arse,

“Ow! Not when I’m holding the baby, Gregory.”

“That’s the only reason you’re not getting more.”

“Yes dear.” Mycroft called as he carried John to the bathroom.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a very short chapter to finish the day off.   
> You guys really are amazing, you know?

Mycroft carried John down the hall, while John was undeniably adorable at this age, his back was killing him. “Bath and then bed for you, hm?”

John nodded against his shoulder,

“You’re a tired boy.”

John nodded again.

Once they were in the bathroom Mycroft lowered John onto the bath mat and knelt down next to him. He rolled up his sleeves and started to run the water, he smiled fondly at John who was sucking on the corner of his towel. 

“Do you want any toys in your bath, dear?”

John blinked back at him,

“How about a rubber duck?”

John smiled and nodded. 

“Okay then,” Mycroft smiled, as he went to stand and find the bath toy box John whined, when Mycroft turned back to him he was reaching out, just on the brink of crying. “Oh, okay darling I’m not going anywhere,” he sank back onto his knees and scratched behind John’s ear with one hand as he reached across and pulled the toy box towards him with the fingertips of the other. “There we go, success. Where’s Mr Duck?” Mycroft rummaged through the absurd variety of bath toys the boys had collected, eventually finding the rubber duck he’d been searching for. “Here he is, John, look,” 

“Mine?” John reached out,

“Yes, yes, he’s yours,” Mycroft handed over the duck, which John held close to his chest. “Right, let’s get you into the water, hm?” Mycroft stood, pulling John to his feet before helping him into the tub, thankful for the nonslip mat that lived at the bottom. “Sit down on your bum, darling.” 

John did as he was told and once he was settled, he sat the rubber duck on the water and lightly pushed him, grinning up at Mycroft when he floated a couple of inches, 

“See?!”

“Yes, I see, he’s a good duck isn’t he?”

John nodded before pulling him back and lightly pushing him away again,

“Head back, darling.” John leaned backward allowing Mycroft to gently wash his hair, he wasn’t even an ounce as fussy as Sherlock in the hair department. At least not usually, however when Mycroft was rinsing out the no tears shampoo he started to wriggle. “Almost done.” Mycroft soothed but that didn’t work,

“Done! Done, done, done, done, done!” John chanted as he wriggled out of Mycroft’s hold before wiping his face on Mycroft’s shirt and wheezing like a man drowned.

“Alright, alright my love all done.” Mycroft pulled a towel from the basket and gently dried John’s face, “You don’t usually mind me washing your hair, what’s wrong?” Once John’s face was dry, Mycroft pulled the towel away but dropped it the second John decided to clamber out of the bath,

“Ow! Ow!”

A panicking Mycroft helped John out of the bath and onto the mat where the younger man instantly moved to climb up into his arms. Mycroft improvised and sat down, allowing John to crawl into his lap,

“What’s wrong, my love, are you hurt?”

John shook his head and patted Mycroft chest, “Ow.”

“Out?”

John nodded,

“Oh, okay I see. You’re out now.” Mycroft patted John’s wet hair and sighed to himself in relief.

“Ducky?” John asked holding out his palm,

Mycroft chuckled, “We’ll get your duck once you’re dry.” That wasn’t a good enough answer for John, he turned and tried to climb over Mycroft’s shoulder back into the tub, “No, John,”

“Ducky?” John called as if calling for a friend, “Ouch!” he yelped as Mycroft landed a smack on his still damp bum. 

“Sit down, John Hamish,” Mycroft sighed from where he was sat on the floor, clinging onto John’s leg. John reluctantly crumpled back onto the floor, his thumb now in his mouth only partly concealing his pout. “And you can stop pouting, little monster.” Mycroft wagged a finger at John before giving him a kiss on the nose. “Lie back and let me get you dry.”

John sank backward, lying down on his back and watching Mycroft as he fetched a dry towel before kneeling back down on the mat. “Let’s get you dry, hm?”

John nodded and watched as Mycroft meticulously dried him before pulling him back upright to dry his back and his hair. “You’re going to need a haircut soon, look at you, you’ve got a mop just like your brother.”

John giggled and nodded as Mycroft towel dried his hair, leaving it hanging over his forehead.

A couple of minutes (and a great deal of difficulty for Mycroft) later, John was tottering around the bathroom in his dark blue footie pyjamas, sucking on his clean pacifier (a reward for letting Mycroft clean his teeth) and clutching his rubber duck to his chest, pointing at every single item in the bathroom to show it to said duck. 

“Ka!” He said as he pointed to the sink, looking between the sink and his duck to check that the duck had registered what he was telling him. When he was sure that the duck had understood he turned to the next important item which happened to be the bath. He was about to explain to the duck in detail, as he had with the sink, all of the features of the bath when he spotted the shiny taps. He wandered over and reached out, John-John really loved taps, or gears, or anything that turned round and round and round. On one occasion he had snuck into Mycroft’s office to play with the gold clock on his desk. That hadn’t ended well for him.

He was almost within touching distance when Mycroft slid in between him and the bath, he looked up at Mycroft who was peering down his nose at him, eyebrow perfectly arched.

“Do you touch the taps, John Hamish?” 

John shook his head, his eyes never leaving Mycroft’s. He’d forgotten that John-John wasn’t allowed to touch the taps, but now he remembered, and his bum began to sting in warning. 

“No, you do not. Now go and show your ducky to Da and Lock before I tuck you in.” Mycroft turned him around and swatted him in the direction of the door.

John skipped into the living room where Greg and Lock were cuddling on the sofa as Greg read Sherlock Peter Rabbit for the thousandth time,

“Da!” John chirped as he wandered over holding his duck aloft, “Da!”

“Look who it is,” Greg smiled as he made room on his other side for John to clamber up,

“Da!” John thrust the duck in Greg’s face,

“Who’s this then, John?”

“Mi’!” John clutched the duck back to his chest.

“Is that your duck, eh?” Greg chuckled as John cuddled up to him, nodding. 

“Is my duck really, Da.” Sherlock whispered with a smirk. Greg chuckled as he tapped his bum and leaned in to whisper back,

“Behave, trouble.” Before smooching Sherlock on the forehead and squeezing him close, making the younger man giggle and sigh as he rested his head on Greg’s shoulder. 

“Annuva story, Da?” Sherlock asked, tapping the closed cover of Peter Rabbit.

“No, love, you’ve had both your stories for tonight. And John-John’s had his bath, so I say its bedtime.”

“Da’s right,” Mycroft called from the doorway where he was leaning, watching Greg with the two boys. He had a damp towel over one shoulder and the steam of the bathroom had left him with a curl of hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. 

“John-John’s little, he shud sleep first.” Sherlock mumbled as he rubbed one eye with his fist.

“Exactly, John is little which means he needs his big brother to keep an eye on him. Come on,” Mycroft held his hands out to Sherlock, “Let's brush your teeth and get you tucked in.” Sherlock was swayed by Mycroft’s argument and clambered off the sofa, wandering over to Mycroft who wrapped him in a hug before leading him to the bathroom. 

“Let’s have a cuddle before bed.” Greg sighed as he pulled John close, “Are you going to be a good boy and stay in your bed tonight?”

John didn’t answer.

“A little bit later me and Pa will be in to sleep next to you.”

John still didn’t answer, and Greg looked down to see his eyelids drooping. 

“Right monkey, let’s get you and duck into bed.” Greg spoke through a yawn as he stood from the sofa,

“Up,” John held his arms up to Greg, who cracked his back with a slight wince,

“Yes, up, come on you.” Greg heaved John up and carried him to the bedroom where Mycroft was tucking Sherlock’s blanket in around him. He’d already brought John’s duvet into the room and it was folded at the end of the bed. Greg lowered John onto the bed before unfolding the duvet, “Lie down, love.”

John nestled down with his head on his pillow next to Sherlock and Greg tucked the blanket in around him as Mycroft turned off the main light and switched on a small night light.

“Okay you two, we’ll be just outside if you need us, but be good boys and get some sleep.” Greg leaned over to kiss Sherlock on the forehead before doing the same for John.

“Night night, dears.” Mycroft called as he pulled the door half shut before he and Greg retired to the living room.

“Is it just me or was that…fucking exhausting.” Greg sighed as he rested his forehead on the countertop.

“Keep your voice down, there are still little ears in the vicinity. And no dear, it’s not just you.” Mycroft answered with a back rub. “Beer?”

“Have they got any?”

“Ah, now that’s a question.” Mycroft retreated to the fridge, sighing at its empty state. “No beer.”

“Now I’m really going to smack them when I see them.”

“Although I did find a bottle of sherry when I was searching for soap earlier.” Mycroft crouched down and rummaged through the cupboard, “I know it’s not your usual choice of beverage-“

“I’d drink anything right now, love.”

“I thought so. Aha!” Mycroft grinned up at Greg as he peered out of his arms, he showed him the dusty bottle he had retrieved from the dark depths of the cupboard. Mycroft pushed himself up before rummaging around in the kitchen, to save them both from drinking from sippy cups he took two mugs from the side and poured them both a glass. “Warm sherry in a mug, my dear.”

Greg pushed himself up with a chuckle, taking the mug from his husband before kissing him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “Come on you, the sofa calls.”

“Yes, it does.”

One hour later, Mycroft dozed on Greg’s shoulder as his husband watched the second half of a movie he’d seen a thousand times before.

“Da,” John yawned from the kitchen where he was standing half asleep. Mycroft flinched next to him but Greg kissed his cheek,

“I’ve got this one, love.” Greg pushed himself up and walked over to John, who instantly latched onto him, “Come on, bedtime monkey.” 

“Da!” John whined, 

“Come on,” Greg silently apologised to his back before picking John up once again, “It’s John’s bedtime.” Greg murmured as he carried John back into the bedroom, quietly tucking him back in before returning to Mycroft. 

It was twenty minutes before a sleepy Sherlock emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Your turn,” Greg chuckled as Mycroft stood and walked over,

“Bedtime, darling, come on.” Mycroft took Sherlock’s hand,

“Need a wee.” Sherlock mumbled,

“Oh, okay, good boy for telling me, do you need a hand?”

“Pa come?”

“Yes my dear.” Mycroft took Sherlock to the bathroom and helped him wash his hands before gently encouraging him back into the bedroom and back to bed.

The adults had a full ten minutes together before John wandered out once more,

“Ba ba,” He patted his lips as he came over to the sofa,

Mycroft sighed, and Greg rubbed his shoulder, “Shall we admit defeat love?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Greg turned off the television and started to shut down the flat for the night as Mycroft tended to John,

“No my darling, no bottle, it’s time for sleep.” Mycroft murmured as he stroked John’s hair, “Me and Da are coming to bed too.” 

“Up, up?” 

“Yes, up.” Mycroft lifted John and watched as Greg turned off the last of the lights before carrying the baby into the bedroom and sitting him on the bed.

John sat up and watched as Greg and Mycroft dressed for bed, by the time they climbed up on either side of the boys, Sherlock was sitting up too.

“Time to lie down, lads.” Greg declared as he pulled Sherlock down to lie next to him and Mycroft did the same with John.

“Good night, my loves.” Mycroft sighed, as John curled up against his chest. He reached across the boys, searching for Greg’s hand.

“Night love.” Greg sighed, squeezing Mycroft’s hand when he found it.


	8. Chapter Eight

When John woke up, the flat was quiet. Too quiet, and too dark. He didn’t like it when it was too dark and too quiet, that’s when the monsters come out. He turned over to see if Pa was up, but he was still asleep, he was just about to wake him up because it was all getting far too frightening when someone patted him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around to see his brothers’ eyes staring at him. Without thinking, John lurched forward and hid his face in Sherlock’s chest. As soon as his brain caught up with his actions he was afraid Sherlock would tease him, instead he felt Sherlock’s hand patting against his back. Just as his heart stopped racing, John pulled himself back from his big brother and rubbed the back of his hand against his sleepy eyes. Sherlock held one long finger over his lips and John understood, they had to be quiet, so he nodded. Sherlock took his hand and the two boys clambered off the bed as quietly as possible (which wasn’t the easiest of tasks since neither boy would release the hand of his brother) before tiptoeing to the door and outside to freedom.

As soon as they were in the living room Sherlock released John’s hand and hurried to the window, where he threw open the heavy curtains letting the predawn light into the room. It wasn’t much but compared to the heavy blackness of moments before, they were bathing in daylight. Sherlock heard John sigh behind him before moving to the second window and doing the same.

“Better John-John?” Sherlock asked as he turned back to his brother. 

John nodded and broke out into a broad smile before a loud yawn interrupted him.

“Sleepy John-John,” Sherlock cooed at his little brother as he approached him and patted him clumsily on the head. John giggled and rubbed his face on his brother’s t-shirt. “Toys or Toons?” Sherlock asked, holding out a hand for each of John’s choices and weighing them up like a lanky pair of scales. 

“Toons!” John grinned, slapping his hand down on the open palm Sherlock had gestured cartoons with. Sherlock grinned back at him before taking his hand once again and leading him over to the television. 

“Telly’s hard.” John grumbled with a pout, but Sherlock shook his head,

“I can do it, get snuggly fings.” Sherlock shooed his brother towards the sofa where John began collecting cushions. Sherlock sat down cross-legged in front of the screen and screwed up his face in concentration as he turned on the bright screen and began searching for the cartoons he and his brother were craving. Behind him, John hummed to himself as he collected all of the movable soft furnishings in the room before depositing them on the floor by his brother. Sherlock patted the pile of cushions with one hand, never taking his eyes from the screen and John nodded in understanding before joining Sherlock on the floor and arranging the cushions so he could get comfortable. “Is dis good?” Sherlock asked, finally looking away from the screen and over at John to see if he was happy with his programme choice.

“Mmhm.” John confirmed from around the thumb that was now in his mouth. 

“Yeh I like dis wun.” Sherlock nodded before leaning back against the pillows, allowing John to cuddle up to him as he did. 

When Greg woke it was quiet, too quiet, and the bed felt colder than it should given the fact four bodies were sharing it. He turned over and grumbled “Shit,” to himself when he saw the empty space between himself and Mycroft. Before his brain could convince him to close his eyes again, he pushed himself up and crept out of the room in the hope that at least one parent would get a full night’s sleep. Once he was out of the bedroom he noticed the light creeping in from outside and the distant sound of a quiet television, he rounded the corner into the living room to see his two boys curled up in front of the screen. The younger of the two was fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth and his head next to his brother. Sherlock’s eyes were still open as he stared at the screen, his thumb also now in his mouth. Greg smiled to himself and wandered over, lowering himself down onto the floor next to Sherlock with a groan. Sherlock startled and turned to look at him with wide eyes,

“It’s alright, love, what are we watching, hm?” Greg ignored his screaming back and settled himself down on the cushions next to Sherlock, allowing the boy to cuddle close, he rested his head on Greg’s chest and returned his glassy eyes to the screen. A few moments later, Greg was asleep.

Mycroft woke up at 7:30, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. He turned over to celebrate with his husband when he found he was in an empty bed. He pushed himself out of bed with a groan, carrying around six-foot toddlers was taking its toll, and borrowed Sherlock’s robe from the back of the door before wandering out to find his three boys. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t the three of them dozing happily on the floor by the television. 

“What have we here?” Mycroft asked as he leaned against the door frame, three sleepy faces turned to look at him.

“Mornin’ Pa.” Sherlock yawned in response as he rubbed his tired eyes on Greg’s t-shirt.

“Morning, love.” Greg croaked as he reached out his arms to stretch. 

“Good morning, my dears. Did you sleep well?” 

There was no answer to that question and Sherlock pushed himself up from the mountain of cushions and stumbled over to hug Mycroft. “John-John bad dreams.” He mumbled.

“Oh dear, thank you for looking after him my darling.” 

“Cors.” Sherlock nodded as he collapsed into Mycroft’s offered hug. 

“You should have woken me, Lock.” Mycroft offered as he kissed Sherlock’s cheek and squeezed him tight.

“Pa need sleep.” Sherlock nodded as though giving Mycroft an order.

“You’re a sweet boy. Do you think you could stomach more toast for breakfast? It’s all we’ve got at the moment I’m afraid.”

“I love toast.”

“Yes, you do, you odd little duck. Go and have a seat and I’ll get breakfast started.”

“Okie dokie.”

Mycroft chuckled as Sherlock rounded him and found himself a seat while Mycroft wandered over to John and Greg.

“How are you two down there?”

“John’s alright, aren’t you lad?” Greg answered as he ruffled the younger man's hair.

“A-huh.” John managed before yawning loudly.

“Wonderful,” Mycroft beamed down at John, before crouching in front of him. “Could you manage some toast for breakfast?”

“Toast for bekfast?” 

“That’s right.”

“I’ll try.” John nodded before pushing himself up from the cushions and trotting over towards Sherlock,

“Good boy,” Mycroft called after him as he straightened up before peering down at his husband on the floor, “Sleeping on the floor, Gregory? You’re getting far too old-“

“Alright, I know, I know.” Greg groaned, “Give me a hand?” Greg held a tired hand up to Mycroft who rolled his eyes but helped pull him up off the floor. 

“You’re putting those cushions back, you know?” Mycroft chuckled as he kissed his husband and made his way into the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Greg sighed as he followed him. 

“Tea?”

“Coffee?”

“I’ll see what they’ve got,”

“Thanks love.” Greg collapsed into the chair next to John.

“Tea please?” Sherlock asked as politely as possible.

“No dear, you can have milk or juice,” Mycroft responded as he clicked down the handle on the loaded toaster and pulled two sippy cups from the cupboard. 

“Why not? I said please!” 

“Because I said so,” Mycroft responded with a stern expression before taking Sherlock’s chin lightly in his fingers, “And because you are far too small for caffeine.” Mycroft landed a kiss on Sherlock’s nose before moving back to the task at hand, “So what will it be, Lock, juice or milk?” 

“What’s Pa having?”

“I’m having tea.”

“What’s Da having?”

“Da’s having coff- no, sorry darling, Da’s having tea too.” Mycroft changed his answer as he opened cupboard after cupboard in search of coffee but found nothing. Greg nodded from where he was sitting with his head resting on his hand. He didn’t really care if it was tea or coffee, anything would do. Rather, anything with caffeine would do. “You know Sherlock, me and Da will be having milk with our tea, so would you like milk?”

“Oh yeh!” Sherlock nodded, suddenly decided.

“Good choice,” Mycroft smiled as he filled Sherlock’s cup and handed it to him, “John, dear, what would like, juice or milk?” 

“Errrr,” John thought hard, tilting his head side to side in the process, “Juice!” 

“Juice it is, it’s nice to hear you so talkative dear.” Mycroft reached over to pinch John’s cheek as he handed him his juice.

“I’m good ad words!” John nodded.

“Yes, you are,” Mycroft chuckled as the toast popped up.

“Toast for Lock and toast for John-John,” Sherlock sang. Greg groaned and pointed a finger lazily in the direction of the toaster, “And toast for Da,” Sherlock added,

“Yes, I’ll make some toast for your tired old Da in a moment.”

“Har, har, har!” Greg grumbled,

“Would you like your toast in soldiers, Lock?”

“P-yow, p-yow!” John fired an imaginary gun in no particular direction,

“Not tha kind John-John!” Sherlock shook his head in exasperation at his little brother.

“I wanna play solgers!” John declared and jumped off his seat before running into the living room and throwing himself on the cushions. Mycroft and Greg shared a look before Greg pushed himself out of his seat and wandered over to him,

“Come on monkey, breakfast.”

“Soldiers, Lock?”

“Yeh please, they taste nicerer.” 

“Is that so?” Mycroft asked with a chuckle as he sliced Sherlock’s toast and handed it to him. Once the plate was in front of him, Sherlock picked up a small slice,

“Yeh, Pa try?” he offered it to Mycroft who took a small bite,

“Mm, quite right, that’s lovely. Now you eat up.” Sherlock nodded and began to eat his breakfast while Greg manhandled a fidgeting John back to his seat. 

“You can play once you’ve eaten, come on.”

“Come and have your juice, John.” Mycroft put down John’s plate by his cup.

“Can I yav biskits for brekfast?” John asked,

“No, you can have toast, toast is good for you, come on.” Mycroft pointed to John’s plate and moved to prepare his and Greg’s breakfast. 

“Don’ wannit.” John shook his head.

Sherlock licked the butter from his fingers but left the majority of his toast on his plate as he stood up and wandered over towards the television.

“Sherlock, come and sit down,” Mycroft called from the kitchen,

“Telly,” Sherlock sort of answered before collapsing down on the pile of cushions.

“John,” Greg warned as he tried to pull the resisting toddler towards the kitchen,

“Don’ wannit!” John shouted, trying to remove Greg’s fingers from his arm. 

“Everyone in the kitchen, right now.” Mycroft called.

“I’ve eated!” Sherlock called, he was sitting a few inches from the television screen, squinting at the menu with the remote in his hands.

“You have not eaten, Sherlock Holmes, don’t fib to me. Come and sit down.” Mycroft called again, very close to losing his patience. 

“John, come and eat your breakfast right now or you’re going in the corner.” Greg huffed,

“Noh fair.” John pouted, his eyebrows knitted together seriously.

“Yes fair, come on.”

John relented and allowed himself to be pulled into the kitchen by Greg, who quickly got him settled in his seat. Once his cup was in his hands John realised how thirsty he was and instantly began sucking his juice through the lid. 

“Slowly lad,” Greg murmured as he stroked John’s hair back from his face and sat down next to him, pulling his plate and mug towards himself and tucking in. 

Mycroft was already on his way to collect Sherlock, he stepped over the island of pillows and leaned over the back of the television, pulling the socket from the wall. The screen went blank and Sherlock whined loudly,

“Come on, breakfast, right now.” Mycroft held out a hand to Sherlock who shook his head. Mycroft sighed loudly, “Now, Sherlock, or you can sit in a time out while the rest of us eat.”

Sherlock weighed up his options and took Mycroft’s hand, following him into the kitchen where they joined the other two.

“Well, that was a lot of fuss over nothing.” Mycroft sighed as he looked across at Greg.

“The sign of things to come, love.” Greg murmured back, reaching across the table to stoke the back of his husband’s hand. “John,” Greg chuckled, “Slowly, remember.” He gently took John’s toast wielding hand in his own and helped him guide it into his mouth before using his thumb to wipe some of the butter from his chin and cheeks.

“Sherlock, you’re not leaving your seat until you’ve finished- No, don’t you pout at me, finish that all up.” 

“John, here, let Da do it.” Greg slurped down the last of his tea and shuffled slightly closer to John so he could help feed him and avoid the younger man injuring himself. 

“If I eat it all can I ‘av a biskit?” Sherlock asked Mycroft as he pushed the last of his toast around his plate with a finger.

“I’m afraid there aren’t any biscuits in the flat, and that isn’t how breakfast works Sherlock, you like toast, you said so not ten minutes ago. Eat up.” 

“BIskit?” John asked Greg, holding out his palm,

“No, love, I haven’t got any.”

“Get biskit?” John asked, still holding out his hand.

“One of us is going to have to go shopping.” Mycroft murmured across to Greg.

“I’m not sure either of us wants to be left on our own with these two at the moment.”

“No,” Mycroft sighed. “I suppose we’ll all have to go.”

“No way.” Greg scoffed as he fed John the last piece of his toast. “Not after somebody’s antics,” Greg nodded his head in Sherlock’s direction. 

“It might be good for them, for all of us, to get out of the flat for a moment.”

“Why don’t we just take them home, love? John, I haven’t got any biscuits lad.” Greg added to the little beggar next to him who was now holding his palm an inch from Greg’s face in the hope it would convince him to place a biscuit there. 

“John seems afraid in his own home, I fear if we take them back to the house now, while they’re still processing everything, that he may not feel comfortable coming back here. We need to use this time to make them feel safe, here. Once John can get through the night without hyperventilating, we’ll take them straight back to the house.”

“You’re right, you’re always bloo-“

“Gregory.”

“Sorry, you’re always right, love. But can’t we just get some of your goons to pick up some shopping?”

“Goons?! Gregory, I am not a Bond villain.”

“Well, you kind of are.”

“Oh hush, and I could have someone deliver things for us, but I still think they need some fresh air. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“No! No killing birdies!” Sherlock suddenly protested startling Greg and Mycroft who had forgotten little ears were listening. 

“No, no, sorry my darling it was just an express- no one is going to hurt any birds, I assure you.” Mycroft murmured, stroking Sherlock’s cheek, “And would you look at that, you’ve almost finished your breakfast like a big boy, just one more piece.” Mycroft leaned in and planted a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock smiled and rushed to empty his plate. “Aren’t you a good boy, hm?”

“Yeh,” Sherlock nodded.

“Right boys, come on, let's get you cleaned up.” Greg stood and held out a hand to each boy, “You alright cleaning this lot up, love?”

“Yes,” Mycroft was surprised by how willing Greg seemed to handle both sons, “Are you alright with those two?”

“We’ll be fine, if you get a moment, put your feet up, you’ve earned it.” Greg winked and lead the boys to the bedroom.

“Right, bums on the bed while I get you something to wear, go on.” Greg ushered the boys over to the bed where they settled down, watching as Greg went in search of clothes however this almost instantly grew boring and Sherlock turned to John,

“John-John, lookit.” Sherlock poked one finger up his nose at the same time as poking out his tongue, making it look as though he’d located his tongue button. John cackled, and Sherlock glowed feeling every inch the cool, silly big brother. He took the finger from his nose and waggled it in John’s direction,

“Ew!” John half screeched half giggled as he tried to get away from the finger,

“Boys,” Greg warned from the wardrobe that he was plunged half way into in the search of jumpers,

“Da got eated by the coats,” Sherlock giggled,

“Where Bear?!” John suddenly asked, pushing himself up to stand on unsure feet on the mattress before stomping off in search of his bear, “Bear? Bear?!”

“John-“Greg grumbled as he removed himself from the wardrobe before looking up in the direction of John’s calls, “Oi! I said bums on the bed.” Greg marched over and landed a slap to the back of John’s thigh,

“Ouch!” John was startled out of his search and turned to look at Greg as he rubbed his leg.

“Sit down, right now.” Greg pointed a finger at the bed and John sat with a pout, “Where’s your brother?” Greg scanned the room and John shrugged,

“Where Bear?” He asked instead,

“I don’t know, I’ll find him after I’ve found your brother, Lock?!” Greg rounded the bed to find two feet sticking out from under it, “Oh for-!” he reached down and took a hold of one ankle before pulling Sherlock out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Lookin’ for Bear,” Sherlock chirped with a smirk before letting out a little yelp when Greg delivered a matching smack to his thigh.

“Up. Come on, bathroom.” Greg ushered Sherlock out of the room before holding out a hand for John to take, “Hand, monkey, come on.” John reluctantly took Greg’s hand and allowed him to pull him along to the bathroom. Why did he have to hold Da’s hand? He was almost as growned as Sherlock. “Right,” Greg sighed as he closed the door behind them and dropped the boys’ (and whatever strange combination he’d found for himself) clothes onto the closed toilet seat. “Arms up,” both boys held their arms above their heads while Greg pulled off their t-shirts and dropped them into the open hamper in the corner, “Bottoms and pants off,”

“I can’t take my bum off!” Sherlock argued, and John giggled,

“You know what I mean, cheeky.” Greg chuckled before turning this attention to John who was struggling with the drawstring on his pyjamas, “Here, let Da.” 

“No John-John do it,” John pouted, turning his body away from Greg as he leaned in to help. Next to them Sherlock was already naked, 

“Clothes in the hamper, Lock. John, come here, let me help.”

“No!” John stamped a foot and Greg rolled his eyes,

“John, one.” John took a step away from Greg,

“No, no, no!”

“Two…Three…. Right.” Greg stepped over, taking John by the shoulders he guided him to the corner of the bathroom, “You need to calm down mister, nose in the corner until I call you out.” He left John with a light smack to his bum before turning back to a slightly shivery Sherlock. “Sorry Lock are you chilly, eh?”

Sherlock nodded, making his teeth jitter for effect, Greg chuckled and ruffled his hair, “Alright, let’s get you washed and ready.” Greg draped a towel around Sherlock’s shoulders while he ran warm water in the sink before lathering up a flannel and washing Sherlock down. Midway through he heard stomping from the corner and called, “John Hamish, behave yourself,” before helping Sherlock into his clean clothes. “Right, teeth champ, then you’re all done.” Greg supervised Sherlock as he brushed his own teeth, stepping in occasionally to help him with the ones at the back. “Good lad!” He grinned as he ruffled his hair again, “Oh, better smooth that down eh?” he winked before using the softest brush he could find to lightly smooth over the cracks of Sherlock’s hair, as it were. “I know, I know, I’m being as gentle as I can love. There, good as new. Go and find your Pa.” He planted a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, that wonderfully still smelt of soap before opening the door and releasing him to the wild.

“Right then monkey, are you ready to come out?” Greg asked as he closed the bathroom door again and turned to John. John spun on the spot and nodded. “Are you going to let Da help now?” He nodded again, this time rubbing his cheek with his knuckles. “Alright, good boy, come here.” John shuffled over and allowed Greg to finally release him from his pyjamas, “It’s okay to let Da help, you know?” John grumbled through a pout in response and Greg nodded in understanding, “I know you wanted to do it, but sometimes things are difficult and that’s what Da’s for.”

Feeling defeated by his pyjamas John held his arms up around Greg’s neck, “Okay,” he murmured, “Do you want up?” 

John nodded into Greg’s chest and he lifted John up, just for a moment while he sat down on the toilet seat and positioned John on his lap, “You’re my big boy, you know?” 

“I yam?” 

“Of course.” Greg nodded seriously, kissing John on the temple. “And do you know what?”

“Wha?” John asked around his thumb. 

“We’re all going shopping today, and you’re going to be my big boy helper and hold my hand the whole way.”

“Ho’ way?” 

“Yeah, cos I’m very old and I need my John to help me. Think you can do that, junior?”

John nodded,

“That’s my good boy, now let’s get you dressed.”

John climbed off Greg’s lap but held onto his t-shirt with the hand that wasn’t in his mouth. It made getting him washed and changed slightly more difficult, but Greg didn’t mind. “Now then champ, because you’re such a good helper, why don’t you pick which pull up you’d like?” Greg held up two options with ever so slightly different patterns on them. It was more of an illusion of choice than anything, just something to hopefully distract John from the pull-up situation. 

It didn’t work.

“Pants.” John pouted around his thumb.

“Yep, which ones?” Greg held the pull-ups aloft.

“Noooo.” John whined, that wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

“I know, I know, Da’s mean but you’re Da’s big boy so you get to choose which ones.”

John stamped his feet and made a loud whining noise; his tantrum was slightly undercut by the fact that he was still clinging onto Greg’s t-shirt for dear life.

“Do you need some calm down time?” Greg asked gently. John shook his head. “Okay, then which one’s love? Or do you want Da to choose?” 

John responded this time by thunking his head against Greg’s chest.

“Okay, okay, Da’ll choose.” He discarded one of the pull-ups into the clothes hamper to be retrieved at a later date and crouched down to help John step in, which he reluctantly did. “That’s my good boy. Let’s get the rest of your clothes on then we’ll have a hug.” John nodded and let Greg finish getting him dressed. Once his jumper was pulled over his head Greg was quick to wrap his arms around him, kissing his forehead a few times. “Let’s brush those teeth eh? Then you can help Da get dressed.” John’s eyes lit up at this idea and he nodded. Proud that he would be able to help his Da, he stayed as still as little John could while Greg brushed his teeth. Which meant a few stops for him to wriggle around and one stop where he shuffled away to point at one of the tiles,

“Blue!” 

“That’s right monkey, well done! Now come on, let’s finish your teeth.” Once his teeth were brushed and his hair neatly parted down one side, Greg sat him down on the toilet seat, “Right, you watch me wash up and check I’m doing it right.” He planted a kiss on John’s forehead before washing himself and brushing his own teeth in record time, so he could kiss John’s forehead again. “Now then big boy, what do I put on first?” Greg pointed to the pile of his own clothes, the only things left from the pile of clothes that had found their way from the toilet seat to the floor. John reached down and picked up the nearest item before handing it to Greg. “Good lad,” Greg encouraged John and they repeated the process until all of the clothes from the floor were on Greg’s body. “Look at that! I’m all dressed, I couldn’t have done it without you!” 

John grinned around his thumb with a nod.

“You need a dummy, lad, or you’ll get me in trouble. No thumb, remember.” Greg winked at John before moving around the bathroom in search of a clean pacifier. Finding one in the cabinet over the sink, he swapped John’s thumb for it. “There we are, let’s go and find Pa and Lock.”

John nodded and took Greg’s hand, hopping behind him down the corridor to the living room. 

Greg wasn’t sure just how long it had taken him to wrangle both boys into clean clothes but apparently, it was long enough for Mycroft to shower and dress in a three-piece suit. However, his jacket was now removed, draped over the back of the sofa and his sleeves were rolled up. He was now sitting on the floor, a reclining Sherlock in his lap as he helped the younger man with some Lego construction. 

“So which piece shall we put in now?”

“Mm, this one.” Sherlock picked up a block and held it in his hand.

“Good choice,”

“Can I do it?”

“Of course.” Mycroft kissed Sherlock’s temple and watched as he gently clicked the brick into place. “Oh well done, darling.”

“Gently.” Sherlock nodded.

“That’s right clever clogs.” 

“What are you two up to, eh?” Greg asked as he and John joined them in the living room. Mycroft looked over his shoulder,

“We’re building a fort, aren’t we?” 

“Yeh a fort!” Sherlock cheered.

“Are you two dressed and ready?” Mycroft asked as he tried to get a look at John who was fidgeting behind Greg.

“Yep, all good to go.”

“Lovely, right Mr. Long Legs let’s get up.” 

“Can we do more Legos afta?” Sherlock asked,

“Of course, we can, we’ll play with your Legos later.” 

Sherlock nodded, happy with that arrangement and climbed up out of Mycroft’s lap. Mycroft pushed himself up off the floor and rolled down his sleeves before reaching for his jacket. “Coats and shoes, boys.” Sherlock happily skipped over to the door where he sat down and started pulling on his trainers while Greg manhandled John into his coat. Once they were all ready to leave, Mycroft handed a rucksack to Greg,

“You can carry the dad bag, dear.”

“Why do I always have to carry it?”

“You know it doesn’t go with my suits.” Mycroft frowned seriously, and Greg chuckled, kissing him on the cheek,

“Yes dear.” He leaned over to whisper to Mycroft, “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet.” Mycroft winked,

“How quiet? Can the monkey keep his dummy?”

“Oh yes.” Mycroft smiled, “Right, Sherlock hold my hand.”

“I’m too big!” Sherlock pouted,

“You’re never too big to hold my hand!” Mycroft gasped, Sherlock giggled leaving him just distracted enough for Mycroft to grab a hold of his hand and pull him towards the stairs.

“Come on monkey,” Greg started to pull John through the door but John stood his ground, holding his arms up at Greg.

“Up!”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Pease!” John grinned innocently.

“Good boy, up you come.” Greg heaved John up and followed Mycroft and Sherlock down the stairs.

“You are going to need some devastatingly strong pain killers, darling.”

“Tell me about it.” 

Five minutes later both boys were securely clicked into their seats in the back of the car, Mycroft was sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through the audiobooks on his phone and Greg was adjusting the newly installed ‘kid mirrors’ from the driver’s seat to make sure he could see both boys. 

“Lock, which story would you like?” Mycroft asked.

“Winnie!” 

“Of course,” Mycroft and Greg responded in unison, the Winnie the Pooh audio book had been a favourite of late. 

“Is that alright with you John, dear?” 

“Yeh,” John nodded, making the pacifier in his mouth click.

“Lovely.”

“Right, are we all ready to rumble?” Greg asked, checking for nods from everyone. “Let's go.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a Greg and John-John adventure...

It took about forty-five minutes to drive to the mysteriously (not at all mysteriously, Mycroft) abandoned industrial park. The first twenty-five minutes had gone swimmingly. Sherlock had rested his head on the window and listened to his favourite Winnie the Pooh story, mouthing along silently to the words he remembered, and John had dozed off, giving both dads some much-needed peace and quiet. Greg smiled to himself when he noticed in one of his dad mirrors that Sherlock had fallen asleep as well and was about to congratulate himself and his husband on some A-grade parenting when John woke up. 

It turned out that John wasn’t at all impressed with the fact that he was still buckled into his car seat, or that they weren’t yet at their destination. He huffed through his nose and wriggled in his seat, giving the back of Mycroft’s seat a few kicks in the process. 

“John, lad,” Greg cast a stern look into one of the mirrors, hoping either the look or his tone would catch John’s attention, it didn’t. 

“It’s alright,” Mycroft half-sung in his most soothing of voices, reaching behind him to squeeze John’s knee, “We’re almost there, you’re being such a big boy.” 

John whined, letting the pacifier drop from his lips, “Out, out, out!” he insisted, kicking Mycroft’s seat a few more times.

“That’s enough, dear, just five more minutes.” Mycroft turned uncomfortably in his seat to try and talk to John, but it wasn’t working, and the little man started yanking on the straps holding him in place. At some point in the fit, John had woken Sherlock who was staring wide-eyed at his little brother, somehow aware that he was not capable of soothing him in this state.

“Right,” Greg pulled off the main road and down a series of quieter streets until they reached a small cul de sac on the edge of a park. He stopped the car and went to open his door, pausing to turn back to Mycroft and mumbling, “I’ve got it love,” before climbing out of the car and shutting his door behind him. He rounded the car and opened John’s door, without a word he took a hold of John’s arm with one hand and unclasped his straps with the other. The second the straps were undone John leaped from the car, stopping suddenly when Greg’s hand wouldn’t release him. Greg quietly closed the car door and marched John towards a nearby bench. Greg slumped onto the seat and quickly pulled a wriggling John onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist to keep him in one spot. 

“Okay, deep breath, champ.”

“Noooo.” John fussed,

“Yes you can, remember just how Da showed you? I’ll do it with you, deep breath in,” Greg moved a hand to gently rest over John’s chest and planted a kiss on the side of his sweaty forehead, “And out. Let’s try again, I know you can do it, deep breath in…and out.” 

“Daaa!” John whined and kicked his legs harder, Greg rolled his eyes,

“Alright monkey, okay,” Greg glanced over his shoulder at Mycroft who was still sitting in the car, splitting his attention between Sherlock and Greg. He caught his husband’s eye and quickly removed one arm from around John to hold up a finger and mouth ‘one minute’. “Let’s go for a little walk, eh?”

“Walk?” John asked, meltdown temporarily forgotten as he looked up and over his shoulder at Greg,

“Let’s stretch those legs of yours, but hold my hand,” Greg interlinked his fingers with John’s and nudged him off his lap before standing and leading John on a slow walk across the grass. John hoped and skipped along, straining Greg’s arm as he tried to hop away. “No, no, you’re staying with me, junior.” 

“Mmhm,” John hummed in agreement around the fingers of his free hand that were in his mouth,

“Good boy.” 

“Good. Boy.” John parroted, stamping a foot with each word.

“That’s right,” Greg chuckled. “Was everything too much in the car?”

John nodded.

“Yeah, I know it’s tricky sitting still.”

“Tricky.” John nodded.

“Right then big boy, have you got all of your fidgets out?”

“Play!” John pointed a finger at the goal post in the distance.

“Not right now, champ.”

John frowned and pulled on Greg’s arm,

“No,” Greg sighed, changing his stance so John could pull without pulling him over, “We’re going shopping and John needs to be my big boy.”

“No!” John shook his head with a huff.

“Do I have to take you home and put you in quiet time?”

John shook his head.

“Can you be a big boy and come shopping?”

John frowned but nodded.

“Good lad,” Greg pulled John in for a hug, “Now give me three big jumps, lets tire those legs out,” Greg took both of John’s hands in his and John smiled, knowing this one, “One,” Greg nodded, and John jumped, “Two,” John jumped again, “And three.” John jumped. “That’s my good boy. Come on let’s get you back in the car,” Greg started to lead John back, “And no more kicking your Pa’s seat, mister, or you’ll get a smacked bum, understand?”

“Yeh.” John nodded sadly. 

“Good lad.”

Greg opened the car door and buckled John back in to place before pulling a clean pacifier from the pocket on the back of Mycroft’s seat.

“Mine!” John reached out,

“Magic word, dear,” Mycroft called from the passenger seat,

“Now?” Mycroft chuckled from the front seat, biting his lip to stop himself. John tried to grab the pacifier, but it was pulled out of his reach by Greg, John looked up at the man who was now standing back for the door, eyebrow raised,

“No, you know this one. How do we ask nicely, John?” 

“Mineeeee.” John whined, wriggling in his seat.

Mycroft sighed to himself. He would probably have just relented and handed John the pacifier, he was always a bit of a soft touch when it came to John at this age. He always seemed to struggle with the simple things that never really bothered Sherlock. Easily distracted, easily frustrated, difficulty sitting or standing still. Mycroft was always the one to sweep him into a hug and rock him until he calmed down, aware of how much younger than Sherlock he was when they fell into their most usual ages. Greg, however, was always much firmer with little John, saying that he saw a lot of himself in the young boy. 

“Calm down lad, or you’re going to earn a time out. Now you’re a big boy, so you know how to ask nicely.”

“Daaa.” John half whined half sighed, his chest now heaving at he looked up at Greg.

“Da’s here,” Greg murmured, holding John’s cheek gently in his free hand, “Deep breaths monkey.”

John nodded as he took a few deep breaths,

“That’s my good boy. Now would you like your dummy?”

John nodded, “Mine pease?” 

“There you go, got there in the end,” Greg slipped the magical rubber and plastic combo into John’s waiting mouth. “Such a good boy. Now you rest your eyes until we get there, eh?” Greg suggested as he stroked John’s hair, John nodded his eyes already closed and Greg quietly shut the door.

As he was making his way back around the car to the driver's seat he stopped to open Sherlock’s door,

“How are you doing, love?”

“Kay, Da.” Sherlock nodded,

“You get to pick out a new toy for being such a good boy,” Greg murmured as he stroked Sherlock’s hair, just as he had John’s. Sherlock grinned and Greg smiled down before pointing a finger at John, whose eyes had shot open, “Settle.” John frowned but closed his eyes and Greg landed a wink in Sherlock’s direction before closing the door and climbing back in the front. “Right, off we go.”

A quarter of an hour later, Greg had followed Mycroft’s given instructions on where they were headed, and the family pulled into the enormous but entirely empty car park that was attached to a supermarket, hidden away in an industrial estate on the edge of town. Usually, during the day, the car park would be packed but Mycroft had made calls, as he so often loved to do. 

Greg pulled the car into the nearest possible parking space to the front doors and let out a loud sigh of relief. The last stretch of the drive had been calm and quiet, but he knew what he was about to do was going to be a tad more stressful. Mycroft wordlessly opened the glove compartment and pulled out a bundle of what looked like a flat rope (Greg knew better) and dropped it into Greg’s lap, patting his knee affectionately before climbing out of the car and walking around to help Sherlock.

“Shall we go and fetch a trolley?” Mycroft asked Sherlock as he unbuckled his seat, Sherlock nodded and took Mycroft’s offered hand before skipping after him. 

“What’s bigger a fish or a shoe?” Sherlock asked,

“Well, that depends…” Mycroft and Sherlock’s conversation floated off with them as Greg rounded the car.

“Right then monkey, are you ready to roll?” Greg asked as he opened John’s door.

John nodded, a little dozy from his short nap, however, he frowned severely when he saw what was in Greg’s hand.

“I know you don’t like reigns, and you’re going to hold my hand like a big boy, but it’s just in case. It’s a big old shop and I don’t want to lose my John-John.” 

Reigns were a very recent addition to trips out with John. Mycroft had researched ones designed for adults after a recurring issue with John wondering into trouble when they were out on walks. John didn’t like them because he wasn’t a ‘baby’ and also because only he had to wear them. While Sherlock could be a handful outside of the house, he had never run into a busy street because he’d seen an advert for trainers pass by on a bus. Or got his hand caught in a drain looking for frogs. Or climbed up on top of a low wall, then walked along the low wall until it was no longer a low wall but a much, much higher wall and had a complete meltdown because he was too high up and it was scary. Then refused to be put down by Greg for 48 hours in case he accidentally climbed up somewhere too high again. John-John got himself in trouble when they were out of the house.

Greg unbuckled John’s straps but kept him in his seat as he strapped him into his reigns. John wasn’t at all helpful during this but eventually, Greg had him harnessed up. 

“Right then monkey, hold my hand and we’ll go shopping.” Greg grinned at John, hoping to enthuse him, but John just frowned and climbed out of the car. “Don’t you strop with me, mister. You’ve got your dummy, you’re wearing your cool new shoes and we’re going shopping, it’s all fine and dandy.” Greg smiled at John again as he was leading him towards the automatic doors, John did drop his pout but also wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist before burying his face in Greg’s jacket. 

“Okay,” Greg sighed, hugging John close, “Someone’s having a tough day, eh? But it’ll be alright, I’m here. And if you try your best to be a very good boy like your brother, you can pick a new toy out. How about that?”

“Toy?” John asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“If you try your best, then yep, you can choose a new toy.” Greg nodded.

“Toy fa John-John?”

“That’s right, monkey.”

“Up?”

“You don’t want to walk holding Da’s hand?”

John shook his head, looking close to tears.

“Okay love, let's get a trolley and you can sit down.”

“Da?”

“Yep, you can hold Da’s hand the whole time.”

John nodded, shuffling after Greg. Mycroft and Sherlock were nowhere to be seen, hopefully, Sherlock was having a great time shopping with Mycroft, because John obviously needed a lot of Greg’s attention. Once they were over by the trolleys, Greg pulled one free from the rack and helped John climb in before he settled cross-legged, sat sideways at the back of the cart nearest Greg. Greg used his right hand to steer the trolley while holding his left arm over the handle for John to hold onto.

“Let's find Pa and Lock, eh?”

“Mmhm,” John nodded and Greg pushed the trolley through the doors into the shop. 

Greg steered through a few aisles in search of his husband or other surrogate son, and with each aisle, John’s interest in what they were doing grew, his eyes lighting up as they passed shelves and shelves of colourful items and soon John was sitting up on his knees, Greg’s hand forgotten about. 

“Da!” John pointed,

“What’s that?” Greg slowed the trolley down and John knelt up, pointing at a box of blue detergent tablets. “Think we need these eh?” Greg chuckled as he picked up a box,

“Mmhm,” John nodded holding out his arms,

“Okay big boy, that’s a good idea, here you put them in the trolley.”

John took the box from Greg and quickly wrapped his arms around it,

“Is blue!” John just about managed to say around the pacifier in his mouth, using his teeth to keep it in place.

“That’s right,” Greg started to move again, “John really likes blue at the moment, doesn’t he?”

“Yeh,” John smiled down at the box and patted it with his hand, “Big boy.” He nodded.

“Big boy’s like blue do they?” Greg asked with a fond laugh,

“Mmhm.” John nodded, certain he was correct.

“Alright silly boy, put those down for me.”

“Big boy.” John corrected,

“Right, sorry, put those down for me big boy.”

“Kay,” John nodded and carefully put the box at the other end of the trolley before turning back to Greg,

“Such a good lad!” Greg grinned before ruffling John’s hair. “Can you be a very good boy for me and let Da hold your dummy?”

John covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head with a severe frown.

“I know it’s yours and you can have it back as soon as you need it, but you’re feeling a bit chatty now, which is lovely, and I don’t want you to lose it.” Greg actually didn’t care if he lost it, they had thousands of the things, but he really didn’t want to spend his evening returning to the shop and searching every inch of it for the pacifier if John did accidentally lose it. He had spent far too many evenings on panicked searches of parks and corner shops, a heartbroken John’s face floating in his mind.

John mulled this over, his Da had a good point. He was feeling a little bit chatty and he really really didn’t want to lose his dummy. Slowly he removed the pacifier from his mouth and wrapped his hands around it before holding it protectively against his chest, “Mine?”

“Yes junior,” Greg sighed affectionately, “It’s most definitely yours. Can Da look after it?”

John thought hard again, this time chewing on his lip as he did,

“Ay, ay, none of that monkey,” Greg leaned forwards and used his thumb to gently pull John’s lower lip from his teeth, “You’ll hurt yourself, even your thumb is better than that.”

Greg regretted the words the second he’d said them as John removed one hand from its protective position and put his thumb straight in his mouth,

“No thumb, John Hamish.” Greg chastised gently, “Ask for your dummy if you need it, now let Da put it away safely.” 

John nodded, handing over the pacifier (not removing his thumb from his mouth) and watched as Greg removed the rucksack from his back and carefully zipped the pacifier into the front pocket before putting the bag back on his back. 

“There, all safe.” Greg smiled, “No thumb,” he repeated as he removed John’s thumb from his mouth for him. “Now, where are those Holmes’s eh?”

Greg started pushing the trolley again, restarting the search for the other half of the family. They successfully negotiated one aisle before John started to fidget. 

“Out Da?” John asked, clumsily pushing himself up onto his feet and nearly falling headfirst out of the trolley in the process.

“Oh, easy there monkey,” Greg stopped the trolled, “Let Da help.”

John fidgeted where he stood while Greg steadied the trolley, took a hold of John’s reigns and helped him out. John instantly took off in the direction of the sweets aisle but came to an abrupt stop when the reigns ran out. 

“Ohhh,” John whined,

“We’ll come back to that aisle, come on let’s find your Pa.”

John nodded and started trotting off in search of Pa and Lock while Greg followed. It took a couple of minutes of wandering, the shop was enormous, before they spotted Mycroft and Sherlock choosing tinned fruit.

“Pa!” John hopped up and down, trying to get Greg to go faster, he didn’t.

“There you two are, we were beginning to worry,” Mycroft winked at Greg as they parked their trolleys next to each other. Sherlock was sitting in Mycroft’s very full trolley, clutching a small stuffed dog in one hand.

“Ello, love.” Greg beamed down at him,

“Look Da! A doggie!” Sherlock grinned,

“Oh wow,” Greg moved in for a closer look at Mycroft gently took John’s reigns from him. “Have you been helping Pa?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock grinned and Greg pinched his cheek, making the younger man giggle before he turned to check Sherlock’s tail of events with his husband.

“Oh, he’s helped so much,” Mycroft smiled, “But we’re a bit tired now, aren’t we Lock?”

“Yeh,” Sherlock nodded, drooping a little where he was sitting before rubbing the soft fur of his new companion against his cheek.

“That’s not surprising, you were up half the night looking after your little brother.” Greg sighed,

“Big bruvva.” Sherlock nodded, puffing out his chest proudly.

“That you are, but looking after John-John at night is our job, love.” Greg moved in, so his face was close to Sherlock’s, “I am so proud of you, my boy.” Greg planted a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead and his face crinkled into a smile. 

“John Hamish,” Mycroft chastised from the other end of the aisle, “Put that back.” Greg winked at Sherlock before moving the single box of detergent from the empty trolley, into the full one and wheeling Sherlock after Mycroft and John.

“Toys now!” John announced as he tried to pull Mycroft in the direction of the stuffed animals. 

“No dear, we need toiletries, then we’ll go and look at the toys.”

“Now!” John pulled Mycroft hard and Greg was about to step in before he remembered Mycroft more than had it covered. Mycroft swooped in with a smack to John’s bum before pointing a finger, “Behave, young man. Come on,” John followed Mycroft, as they walked to the toiletries aisle, stamping his feet as he went.

Sherlock giggled, catching Greg’s eye, “John-John’s naughty.”

“I wonder which big brother he learned that from, eh?” Greg chuckled, poking his tongue out at Sherlock who giggled even louder. 

“Oh, Da?” Sherlock suddenly remembered what he had been meaning to ask for a while,

“Yes, my brilliant boy?”

Sherlock blushed, perhaps being well behaved had its benefits, “Can we choose a new story?”

“A new story…do you mean a new book?”

“Yeh, for bedtimes.” Sherlock nodded.

“Oh, that’s a great idea, of course we can.”

“You choose wif me?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Greg nodded.

“I like it when you do tha voices.”

“You do?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded, holding his new toy close.

“What are you going to call your new friend, eh?”

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought, “Dunno yet.”

“Well as your Pa always says, you’re very good with names. Ah, shampoo,” Greg loaded the trolley.

“Gregory?”

“Yes love?”

“We just need loo roll, then we’re all done.”

“Lovely, right Lock, loo roll,”

“Toys!” John screeched from behind them and Greg rolled his eyes before turning around to offer his assistance.

“John, that’s enough.” Mycroft stated calmly, “Ouch!” Before John yanked so hard on his reigns he almost pulled Mycroft’s arm from its socket.

“Ay, ay, ay,” Greg pointed a finger at John before taking strides towards him. “That’s enough.” He spoke gently but firmly and took John’s arm in his hand before landing a smack to the back of his thigh. 

“Toys.” John pouted as he rubbed his thigh.

“I said you can choose a toy if you try your very best, didn’t I?”

John shuffled his feet,

“John?”

John nodded.

“And right now, you’re not trying your best. Now Pa is going to finish shopping with Lock and I am taking you for a time out. Then, if you’re very good, we’ll think about a toy.” 

Mycroft pecked Greg on the cheek and swept over to Sherlock, grateful that Greg was dealing with John. Sometimes he found it too hard to separate bad behaviour from the cause and his mind was already running away with him, reeling through the difficult emotions John was dealing with. 

Greg took John’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the toilets. 

“Now,” said Mycroft as he loaded the toilet paper into the trolley, “I know you wanted Da to pick a book with you, but how about I help you choose one for Da to read tonight?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded, very happy with that arrangement.

“Come on then my darling.” Mycroft steered Sherlock off in the direction of the books and coincidentally, the doors.

“Right,” Greg sighed as he closed the toilet door behind him, “First things first, are you dry?”

“Yeh.” John answered angrily. 

Greg rolled his eyes and used the front of John’s harness to hold him in place as he snaked a hand down the back of his trousers,

“Daaaa!” John fussed, trying to wriggle away.

“Right, let’s get you a new pull-up.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

John tried to yank himself out of Greg’s grasp, but it didn’t work, so he dropped like a stone to the floor. Without intending to, he’d made Greg’s job easier. With one hand still holding John by the front of his harness, Greg was able to pull off John’s tracksuit bottoms and wet pull up before shrugging off the rucksack and retrieving a clean one. It was only when one of John’s feet came dangerously close to kicking Greg in the face that he leaned over to deliver three smacks to his backside. 

John stopped kicking. He was never as likely to cry after a smack as Sherlock, instead, he frowned up at Greg, his legs still.

“You need to calm down, right now junior, or you’re going over my knee. Now stand up so I can get you dressed.”

John reluctantly stood up, with Greg’s help, and his Da quickly redressed him in less damp clothing. 

“Now, nose against the wall until Da calls you out.” Greg murmured as he gently guided John over to the emptiest wall, positioning him with his nose not literally touching the wall, just in case, it was a public bathroom after all. He left John with a kiss to the top of his head before moving away to tidy up. 

John managed to stand still for a few moments while Greg threw away the old pull up and rezipped his bag but soon he was drawing his finger along the grouting between the tiles and babbling away to himself, “Ta, ta, ta, ta, rawr, mmmm,”

Greg walked up behind him and gently took his arm, moving it back down to his side,

“Time out, love. It’s quiet time remember, stand still.” He kissed John’s hair and moved away to wash his hands. 

John stood still once again but soon he looked down at his feet. He’d forgotten how cool his trainers were, Sherlock had helped him pick them. Also, they had Velcro which was especially cool because John was such a big boy that he was getting really good at Velcro, he crouched down and pulled one of the straps open with a crunching sound before poking his tongue out in concentration as he stuck to the strap down again.

“Did it!” he announced to his Da with a grin, Greg chuckled to himself as he dried his hands on his jeans.

“Well done monkey, but you’re in a time out,” he wagged his finger to show he wasn’t impressed and John pouted,

“Is hard.”

“I know it is love.”

Greg thought for a moment before taking John’s hand, “Come on, Da’s got an idea.” He lead John into one of the stalls and closed the lid, “Sit down,” John did and Greg put a hand on his knee, using the leverage to turn John sideways so he was facing the blank wall of the stall, Greg took a hold of the hand closest to him and gave it a squeeze. “Okay monkey, there are less distractions in here, you finish your time out and Da will stay with you.”

John nodded before patting his lips with his palm, “Da?”

“You finish your time out like a big boy and then you can have your dummy.”

John pouted but nodded and turned to face the blank pale blue wall of the toilet stall.

John lasted a full twenty seconds before he started lightly kicking the wall in front of him as he blew a raspberry with his lips. 

Greg took a deep breath before couching down and stilling John’s legs with his free hand. 

“Fingers on lips.” Greg murmured, referencing a new tactic Mycroft had read about on an online forum and using his free hand to demonstrate. It was most commonly used in schools but worked particularly well for little ones who struggled to remember they were supposed to be quiet. John dutifully held his index finger over his lips and Greg stayed in position, taking his finger from his lips so he could continue to keep John’s legs still. 

John lasted another twenty seconds before he used his hand that was holding Greg’s to rub his eye and let out an accidental whine of frustration.

“Alright champ, all done, good boy.” Greg smiled as he pushed himself up. John had no idea how long he’d been in a time out, but Greg knew it would feel like hours to the little guy. 

“Doned?”

“All done monkey, good lad.” Greg ruffled John’s hair before moving out of the way, so he could help John up. “Would you like your dummy now?”

“Mmhm.” John nodded, and Greg pulled it from the backpack before slipping it between John’s lips. “Now, let’s see if you need a wee before we pick out your toy, eh?”

“Toy fa John-John?”

“Well, have you tried your best?”

“Tried!” John nodded sincerely.

“That’s what I thought, and Da said you could pick out a new toy if you tried your best, didn’t he?”

John nodded, his Da had said that and he had really tried his best to be good, it was just terribly hard!

Greg helped John with his clothes, so the younger man could have a wee before helping him redress and wash his hands, “Let’s go monkey, you hold my hand.” John nodded and took Greg’s hand and followed him to the toy aisle which was conveniently located near the doors.

“What’ll it be, monkey?”

Greg had purposefully taken John to the end of the aisle where the toddler and baby toys were, knowing that showing him the full aisle would be overwhelming. John swung on Greg’s arm as he decided.

Decisions were hard, and John was struggling, growing more and more frustrated, he stamped his feet a few times and looked between Greg and the toys, not sure what to do. It didn’t help that he was hopelessly tired. The shopping trip had taken a long time and he’d usually have been put down for a nap before now. Greg sighed and turned to John,

“Come on love, do you want up?”

John nodded looking relieved and Greg steadied himself before heaving John up. He approached the stuffed toys with John in tow and looked along the row of options.

“What ‘av we got here, eh? Let’s see…” Greg searched the toys for anything that he thought might be pleasing to John. He’d initially planned on buying him a sensory toy but decided against it once he’d seen Sherlock’s choice. If Sherlock had a new ‘friend’ and John didn’t, there’d be hell to pay.

“Aha! Would you look at that…” Greg moved along until John’s eyes settled on what he’d found, a small stuffed monkey, complete with arms open for a hug and big warm smile. John’s eyes lit up, “A monkey for the monkey?”

John reached out and Greg moved closer, so John could pick him up, the second he had him in his hands he hugged him close.

“There we go,” Greg sighed as he immediately made for the door, “Let’s get you tucked up in your seat and you and monkey can have a little nap.”

John rested his head on Greg’s shoulder as he carried him to the car.

Greg could see Mycroft reading in the passenger seat and a sleeping Sherlock in the back,

“Your brother’s already asleep love, so let’s be quiet.”

John didn’t respond, but he was already half asleep. Mycroft had spotted them crossing the carpark and climbed out of his seat to open John’s door. In less than a minute John was securely fastened into his seat, monkey in his lap just as Sherlock’s new dog was in his. 

“The car’s all loaded.” Mycroft murmured as he kissed Greg’s cheek and shut John’s door as quietly as possible.

“You’re an angel.” Greg sighed, earning him a wink from Mycroft. They each climbed into their respective seats and it was with great relief that Greg pulled the car out of the carpark.


	10. Chapter Ten

“I can carry them both,” Greg murmured, putting a hand on his husbands’ knee as he caught him glancing in worry at the two sleeping beauties in the backseat through the rear-view mirror.

“No,” Mycroft sighed, “I’m just as capable of carrying them as you are.”

“Yeah you are, but you’re tired- “

“And you’re not?!” Mycroft snapped, before he and Greg winced in unison. 

“Alright, alright. Which one do you want to take?” Greg tried to negotiate. 

Mycroft thought for a moment, relieved that his little outburst hadn’t woken the boys, “I’ll take lanky, you can take the ex-army muscle monster.”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “John’s a stocky little bugger.”

“What about the shopping?”

“I’ll carry it up once the lads are settled.”

“I can-“

“Oi, do as you’re told, love.” Greg winked across at Mycroft, calming him almost instantly.

“Yes dear.”

Greg squeezed Mycroft’s leg before turning in his seat to look back at the boys.

“Right, let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll go and open the door.”

“Good thinking.”

Greg climbed out of the car and watched as Mycroft walked to the front door. Once it was open he turned his attention to carrying John upstairs. 

Mycroft dashed from the front door to open Sherlock’s car door, the younger man stirred,

“It’s alright my darling,” he murmured, unclasping Sherlock from his chair, “Hold onto Pa,” Sherlock dutifully wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck,

“Doggie,” Sherlock mumbled half asleep, Mycroft smiled to himself before grimacing as he lifted the tall child out of the car,

“That’s right,” Mycroft huffed as he leaned back against the car door, shutting it, “You’ve got a doggie.”

Mycroft carried Sherlock inside, he could hear Greg carrying John behind him but focused on his own task of carrying Sherlock upstairs. With every step he mentally counted the calories he was burning in an attempt to distract himself from the burning in his lungs. 

“All those times I said you were skin and bones…” Mycroft mumbled, “Heavy bones.” He puffed, before nudging open the door to the flat with his hip and wandering in. 

Sherlock began to wake up, fidgeting a little in Mycroft’s arms,

“Hush, sleepy boy,” Mycroft murmured as he carried Sherlock through the flat to Sherlock’s bedroom.

“Pa Legos?” 

“Later, my love.”

“Now?” Sherlock asked as he rubbed his cheek on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“No, it’s nap time now.”

“Story?”

“Okay, we’ll read you a story once you’re in bed.”

Mycroft took the last few steps of his long, long journey and lowered Sherlock down onto his bed. The second Sherlock was laid down he sat up, rubbing his new dog against his face.

“Lay down, darling,”

“John-John?”

“He’s just a few steps behind us,” Mycroft calmed him as he stroked his face, “Lie down and I’ll fetch your pyjamas.”

“Okay,” Sherlock nodded but didn’t lie down, instead he leaned to the side to look out of the door, searching for John.

He wasn’t waiting long as a moment later a red-faced Greg carried John into the bedroom,

“John-John!”

“Hush, darling, don’t wake your brother,” Mycroft whispered as he re-joined Sherlock, gently pushing his down onto his back so he could dress him.

“Shushes.” Sherlock nodded,

“That’s right,” Mycroft nodded.

On the other side of the bed, Greg put down John and sat down on the side of the bed to catch his breath. 

“Mission accomplished,” He smiled across at his husband before taking John’s foot in his hand and removing one of his shoes. John blinked up at him, rubbing his eyes with his fist.

“Da!”

“Oh, hello love. Close your eyes,” Greg cooed down at him. John did as he was told and the two ‘dads’ continued until both boys were dressed in pyjamas and tucked under the duvet with their new stuffed friends in their hands. 

“Story?” Sherlock asked again, and Mycroft nodded before sitting down on the bed.

Greg walked up behind his husband and pecked him on the cheek,

“I’ll deal with the shopping, you tell these two a story.” 

Mycroft reached up to squeeze the hand Greg had on his shoulder, unsure if he had ever loved the man more.

As Greg swept out of the room Mycroft started,

“Once upon a time there were two tired boys…”

 

An hour later Greg and Mycroft were lounging on the sofa together, mugs of tea half-forgotten on the coffee table, the television quietly babbling in the background as they both ‘rested’ their eyes. They didn’t hear the sound of sock covered feet padding into the room, but they did hear the heavy thumping noise that came from the kitchen,

“What the-!” Greg spluttered as he sat up, knocking his husband sideways on the sofa. 

“Who?!” Was all the sense Mycroft was able to make in the moment.

Greg stood up and wandered in the direction of the noise to find Sherlock sat on the floor of the kitchen, with a (thank fuck, closed!) milk container lying on the floor in front of him.

“Milk?” Sherlock asked, no more awake than either Greg or Mycroft.

Greg chuckled as he crouched down, ruffling Sherlock’s locks, “Fancy some milk, eh?”

“Yeh for John-John,” Sherlock mumbled rubbing his tired eyes, “Bad dreams.”

“Have you had bad dreams?”

“No, John-John.” Sherlock pouted before trying to lift the milk container again, he whined in the back of his throat when he found it too heavy to lift in his tired, confused state.

“Eh love, it’s alright, let Da,” Greg gently pulled the milk from Sherlock before pulling him close with his free arm. “I’ll take some milk to John, you go and see Pa.” Greg planted a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead before pushing himself up, he peered down at the young man who was still sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Go home now?”

“Home?”

“Mmhm, can we go home?”

“You are home, my darling,” Mycroft answered as he joined them in the kitchen,

“Nooooo!” Sherlock whined kicking his heels against the floor, “House home!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Mycroft tried to sooth as he leaned down and pulled Sherlock to his feet, “I’m sorry I didn’t understand, come on let’s cuddle on the sofa,” Mycroft gently pulled Sherlock after him, “Maybe Da can bring you some milk?” Mycroft asked over his shoulder receiving a wink in the affirmative from Greg.

Mycroft sat on the sofa and before he could encourage Sherlock to cuddle him, the younger man curled up against him.

“When John-John’s not sleepy can we go?”

“You really want to go the house, eh?” Greg asked as he handed a sippy cup of milk to Mycroft, and the older men shared a look.

“Please.”

“Okay,” Mycroft nodded as he pushed Sherlock’s hair back off from his forehead, “Well you know we can’t go to the cottage right now, Da and I have to work, would the townhouse be okay?”

“Yeah, go home.” Sherlock nodded sincerely.

Mycroft sighed to himself. He had feared this happening, the boys feeling unsafe in their own flat. They had a plan, why did the children never stick to the plan?! 

“Okay, once John’s awake, we can go to the house if that’s what you really want.”

Sherlock let out a loud sigh of relief,

“Here, drink your milk dear.”

“Pa hold it?”

“Of course.”

 

Greg tiptoed into Sherlocks bedroom, hoping to find John asleep. Sherlock seemed to have a built-in worry button where John was concerned and there was a chance that Sherlock had assumed John needed help in his half-asleep state. This was not the case however, as Greg pushed open the door he saw John standing by the window, peering down at the street.

“John?”

John jumped and span around. He was still half asleep but clearly distressed,

“Da?” He asked, patting the window with his hand.

“Hey monkey, what are you doing?”

John frowned as he blinked, entirely unsure what he was doing. The bed was a mess, the scene of a John-John nightmare, pillows and duvet wrapped into a knot in the middle of the mattress. John’s hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and his lower lip was puffy from where he’d worried it with his teeth.

“Da?” John asked again,

“Okay, Da’s here,” Greg crossed the room to John and as expected John instantly threw his arms up. “I’ve got you,” Greg hoisted John up and carried him from the scene of the nightmare, out into the living room.

Sherlock was curled up in Mycroft’s arms, quietly drinking his milk but he eyes snapped open when he saw John enter the room,

“He’s alright Lock, you cuddle Pa for me.” Greg settled himself in John’s chair before helping John get comfortable. “There we go monkey, is that better?”

John was still edgy, casting his eyes around the room as though he was expecting someone to jump out.

“It’s okay love, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

“Nnn.” John shook his head as he chewed on his lip.

“Ay, ay,” Greg gently pulled John’s lip from his teeth this his thumb, “It’s alright,” Greg tried to hold the sippy cup to John’s lips but he shook his head away with a grunt. Deciding on a different tactic Greg put down the cup on the arm of the chair and rested back. Putting one hand under John’s knees he was able to hold him close against him, reclining slightly so his head was under Greg’s chin. John held onto Greg’s shirt with his hands and Greg’s hand went from behind John’s knee, making a knuckled with his left index finger his offered it to John in place of a pacifier. John accepted and instantly the tension dropped from his body,

“Yeah, that’s better than those knashers of yours, eh?” Greg soothed, rocking John slightly,

“Mm.” John agreed.

Greg glanced over at Mycroft and Sherlock. While Sherlock was drinking his milk, his eyes were set on John, worry imprinted on his forehead.

“The house then?” Greg asked.

“The house.” Mycroft nodded. He knew that Greg had wanted to say ‘home’ instead of ‘the house’, he had wanted to do the same thing. But then there was the plan… If Mycroft and Greg had it their way the townhouse would be Sherlock and John’s permanent residence. Big or little, happy or sad. However, big John and Sherlock had made it clear that they needed 221B. They needed their independence. Reinforcing that the townhouse was home in this moment would only make matters worse. 

“Hear that John lad? We’re going to the townhouse,”

John smiled around the knuckle in-between his lips.

“Can you drink some milk for me before we go and get Bear and Monkey?”

John blinked back at Greg, unsure.

“I think you’re thirsty, try some milk for Da?”

Greg quickly replaced his hand with the cup and John latched on automatically, closing his eyes in comfort as his dry mouth was suddenly soothed. 

On the sofa, Mycroft grunted as Sherlock pushed himself to stand up, putting all of weight on the older man’s rib cage.

“Lock, finish your milk please.” Mycroft urged, taking a hold of Sherlock’s arm,

“I’m gunna get Nelson and my doggie.”

“We’ll fetch them in a moment, finish your milk first.”

“Not thirsty.”

“There’s only a little left.”

“No!”

“Lock,” Greg warned from the armchair,

“I want Nelson and doggie,” whined a tearful Sherlock,

“Okay,” Mycroft relented as he stood up, lets fetch you and John’s friends.”

Mycroft followed Sherlock to his bedroom, or rather was pulled along to Sherlock’s bedroom by the anxious younger man.

Mycroft sighed as they wandered in, John’s distress displayed in the bedspread and Sherlock’s on the spot between his eyes where his worry showed most clearly.

“Right, can you find Nelson, your new doggie, Bear and John’s monkey for me?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically and went ahead with his mission while Mycroft made the bed. “Here!” Sherlock nodded his forehead against Mycroft’s shoulder to get his attention and quickly held up all four stuffed animals,

“Oh marvellous! Well done my good boy. Now we just need a jumper for you to wear and we’ll take one out to John.” Mycroft rummaged in the drawers and found a sweatshirt for them each to wear. “Pop your friends on the bed while we get this over that big brain of yours,” Mycroft smiled as he helped Sherlock into the warmer layer of clothing. Lock grabbed up the toys and urged Mycroft to hurry with his fidgeting. “Yes, alright dear, let’s go.”

“Is it rainy?” Sherlock asked as he carefully carried his ‘friends’ into the living room,

“Not yet, although there are some rain showers forecast today.”

“Rain coat?”

“Would you like to wear your rain coat?”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded.

“Well then you can wear your rain coat,” Mycroft nodded before kissing Sherlock’s forehead, “Take your friends to the sofa dear.”

Sherlock nodded and hopped over to the sofa, wriggling with excitement about the prospect of wearing his rain coat and going home.

“I’m just going to wash our mugs,” Mycroft murmured as he walked over to Greg and John, “How are you my little love?” he asked John who was still cuddled close to Greg,

“Kay.” He answered quietly, rubbing his cheek against Greg’s shirt.

“Wonderful, are you ready to go to the house?”

“Yeh,” barely a whisper.

“Okay,” Mycroft chuckled with a warm smile, “Here darling,” he handed Greg the sweatshirt he’d picked out for John, “There’s no point in changing them our of their pyjamas, but they might get a little cold.”

“Good thinking love.”

“I don’t know why you always say that to me. Of course, it’s ‘good thinking’, I’m Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft arched an eyebrow before picking up the mugs from the coffee table and walking to the kitchen to wash them. 

“I’m Mycroft Holmes,” Greg mimicked making an excited Sherlock giggle,

“Behave,” Mycroft called without looking back, Greg turned to Sherlock again pulling an ‘oops’ face that made the younger man hide his giggles behind his stuffed toys.

“Here, Lock, can you take the empty milk cups to the kitchen for me?”

“Yep!” Sherlock nodded before hurrying over to gather John’s cup from Greg, only to find his hands full of stuffed friends. “Uh-oh.”

“Oh no, are your hands already full?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded, glad that Greg had understood the issue.

“Pop your friends down on the table and I’ll keep an eye on them for you.”

“Thank you!” Sherlock did as he was told and carried his and John’s empty cups to the kitchen.

“Right monkey, can you stand up for me?”

John frowned.

“Yes, you can,” Greg encouraged as he tried to usher John off of his lap, “Come on,”

“No!” 

“Oi, you. No more of that or you’ll need a time out before we leave, come on, up you get.”

John reluctantly climbed off of Greg’s lap and stood in front of him, delivering his most severe of pouts.

“Oi,” Greg chuckled as he bunched up the sweatshirt and stood up to pull it over John’s head, “Don’t you give me that look, mister.” He winked, tweaking John’s nose before helping his arms into the correct sleeves. “There, that’s better, all warm now eh? We just need your coat and shoes and you’re all good to go.” Greg wiped the milk/snot/spit that had collected on his hands off on his jeans and moved towards the door to collect the boy’s coats. 

“Da!”

Greg spun around to see John standing in the same spot holding out a hand to him and looking quite distressed that Greg had abandoned him. Greg smiled and reached over to take the offered hand,

“Come on monkey, were you stuck in the mud, eh?” 

John nodded. He had no idea what Greg meant but he was fairly sure he agreed, so he nodded. 

“Right big boy let’s get your coat on.” Greg pulled John-John’s coat from the hook, it was forest green, waterproof, hooded and padded to keep out the cold. Mycroft had picked this particular coat for two reasons, firstly because it had glow in the dark stripes sewn around the elbows and chest (very handy on walks at the cottage) but also because it fastened with a zip, then poppers and finally Velcro meaning that once John was in the coat he required either Greg or Mycroft to remove it. John had a habit of removing his coat and leaving it wherever it fell. Mycroft was very proud of the purchase, so much so that he had sent Greg a ‘Dad Win’ Gif the morning it arrived. The resulting teasing from his husband had led to a Mycroftian tantrum which ultimately meant The British Government spent the best part of a Tuesday morning facing the corner of Greg’s home study. Greg chuckled to himself every single time he helped John into the coat. 

“Da shoes?” John asked,

“That’s right monkey, now it’s time to put your shoes on.”

“I do it.” John nodded before sitting down on the floor and reaching for his shoes, Greg crouched down to join him.

“Alright big boy, how about you do the Velcro, which is the most important bit. But you let Da put them on your feet first?” 

A few weeks earlier John had proudly put on his own shoes, it wasn’t until Greg had removed them after a walk that he realised they had been on the wrong feet the whole time and that John’s bad mood was due to the nasty blisters he had received. John-John had completely forgotten about this however and grumbled as Greg slid his feet into his shoes.

“I know, I know,” Greg murmured, “Now you do the tricky bit.”

John focused hard and successfully strapped his feet in.

“Ay, good job.” Greg ruffled his hair and helped John up from the floor, “Right monkey, you grab Bear and monkey number two and park your bum on the sofa.” John nodded and trotted over to the sofa and Greg turned his attention to the oldest of the two, “Master Holmes...Lock?” Greg scanned the room and not finding Sherlock he leaned into the kitchen, “Myc, have you got Lock?”

“Not on me, no.”

Greg chuckled as he looked around again for Sherlock, “Lock, come on its time to put your- Sherlock?! Myc I can’t find him.”

“Sherlock Holmes?!” Mycroft called in his most impressive voice, which was slightly undercut by the marigold gloves he was currently wearing. 

“Yeh?” Sherlock wandered in from the landing,

“Why were you outside?” Greg asked as he pulled Sherlock into the flat and shut the door.

“Let’s go!” Sherlock was practically bouncing around, pent up frustration and excitement bubbling over.

“We’ll go when we’re ready. You know you’re not allowed outside on your own.” Greg gave Sherlock a meaningful look and Sherlock pouted,

“Taking so long!” he sighed.

“Watch the attitude, mister. Coat, come on.” 

“Rain coat, Pa said!”

“I know, and watch your attitude I won’t tell you again.”

Greg pulled Sherlock’s coat from the hook, “Put Nelson and doggie down while we get your coat on.” Sherlock did as he was told and Greg helped him into his rain coat, handing back the toys once he was zipped in. 

“I can do shoes,”

“Alright champ, remind me, which foot does the shoe with an L go on?” He had drawn an L and an R on the back of Sherlock’s shoes a few weeks before and it was working relatively well. 

Sherlock held up his left hand, making an L shape with it.

“Good job,” Greg ruffled Sherlock’s hair and moved away to check on his husband. “I’m going to do a sweep of the flat, turn off the lights and stuff. Are you about ready to go?”

“Just about.” Mycroft finished wiping the kitchen table with a sigh,

“It’ll be easier once we’re home, love.”

“Yes, I think it will. I’ll sit with the boys while you wrap everything up.”

“Lovely.” Greg pecked Mycroft on the cheek and moved towards Sherlock’s room to start the final checks.

Mycroft pulled his own jacket on before unplugging the television and turning to the boys who were sat on the sofa. They looked, well, bloody adorable. Zipped into their coats, each boy holding a stuffed animal in each hand.

“It’s only a very short ride to the house, but who needs a wee?”

Both boys shook their heads.

“I’m not so sure about that. I think maybe you should both have a try before we leave.”

“Don’t need to!” Sherlock protested, and John nodded along with him.

“Right, well Pa’s not taking no for an answer, come on, I’ll come with you.” Mycroft held out a hand to each boy expectantly but neither boy moved.

“We’ve got to wait for Da to finish all of his ‘Da checks’ before we leave anyway, it won’t take us a moment, come on.” 

“Short ride, you said.” Sherlock argued,

“But it’s better to be safe than sorry, now boys, toys on the sofa.” 

Sherlock sighed dramatically and stood before putting his toys down where he had been sitting and stomping off in the direction of the bathroom. Mycroft urged John to follow suit, wriggling the fingers of his offered hand in John’s direction. 

“We’ll be back in a flash, John.”

John still looked uncertain and Mycroft used his powers of deduction for his fatherly gain,

“I’ll help with your trousers, dear.”

“Oh okay.” John chirped with a smile, his unspoken questions answered and stood up,

“Toys on the sofa,”

John dropped his furry friends and happily took Mycroft’s hand, allowing himself to be steered in the direction of the bathroom. By the time they arrived at the open bathroom door they found Sherlock already sat on the toilet,

“You was right Pa, I needed a wee.” Sherlock nodded,

“I was right, who would have thought?” Mycroft asked with a wink, “Wash your hands my dear.” Sherlock nodded again and made his way to the sink allowing Mycroft to help John undress and use the toilet. 

“Lads, where ‘av you gone?” Greg called from the living room,

“We’re in here,” Mycroft called back,

“Ah, thought I’d lost you!” Greg grinned as he rounded the corner and joined them, tickling an unsuspecting Sherlock,

“Noooo,” Sherlock half laughed half whined,

“Gregory.” Mycroft chastised,

“Here, let Da help,” Greg offered as a slightly out of breath Sherlock tried to wash his hands with toothpaste. Sherlock nodded, and Greg moved into position behind him, helping him lather up his hands with a slightly more effective soap. 

“All done.” John nodded,

“Good boy,” Mycroft murmured as he crouched down in front of him, “Are you sure?”

“Mmmm,” John thought hard before nodding, “Yeh.”

“Well done, up you get,” Mycroft helped John right his clothing before sending him in Greg’s direction to wash his hands. “Come on Lock, let’s get your toys and wait by the door for Da.”

Sherlock nodded and followed Mycroft to the living room, holding onto his jacket as he went. A moment later they were all gathered by the door, Mycroft gave the room a last scan and Greg checked his pockets for his phone and keys. 

“Right, all set. John lad, hold Pa’s hand, Lock you hold my hand lets go.”

It was a far easier journey down the stairs and to the car than the journey upwards and both boys were securely strapped into their seats in no time. Greg didn’t bother searching for an audiobook but instead pulled the car out into traffic and began to navigate the quickest route home. 

“Right boys,” Mycroft called from the passenger seat, “When we get to the house you can have an hours play time before its time for dinner bath and bed.”

The boys cheered in the back seat and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“But that’s one hour boys, not a minute longer.”

John looked over at his big brother silently asking him something, Lock turned to him, “An hour is ages John-John, don’t worry.”

John nodded, happy with his brother’s answer and Greg smirked at Mycroft. 

“Yes dears, an hour is a long time to play so no argument when it’s time for dinner.”

“We never do argues.” Sherlock sighed dramatically and Mycroft swiftly pinched Greg on the thigh to stop him laughing,

“Don’t encourage him,” he hissed as he tried to keep himself from laughing at the same time.

“We never do argues,” Greg chuckled under his breath,

“We never use appropriate grammar either, apparently.” Mycroft whispered before sighing, “Honestly, Lock where do you learn these things?”

“Err, Da?” Sherlock responded making Mycroft laugh out loud this time,

“Yes, that sounds about right.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

It took a few laps of the street with an increasingly stressed Greg searching for a parking space before Mycroft surreptitiously sent a text to…someone.

“I know what you’re doing,” Greg growled, and he drummed his hands on the steering wheel, pulling into the same line of traffic he had voluntarily entered six times.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mycroft tried to look as innocent as possible as he looked out of the window.

“I can find a parking space without your goons helping,”

“I never said any differently- “

“I’m a police officer, Myc, precision driving is on the CV.”

“Quite.”

Greg glared at his husband as they approached the front door of the townhouse to see an empty space right outside. Greg swiftly took the empty space and a man in a black suit who had been hovering nearby disappeared between the cars. As soon as the handbrake was on Mycroft had a hand on the door handle,

“No you don’t,” Greg flicked the button that activated the child lock, keeping Mycroft from a swift exit. As Mycroft had ordered some of his goons to install the child lock on Greg’s car he couldn’t help but feel hoisted by his own petard. Now he thought about it, it may very well have been the same goon that had just made a dignified exit through rush hour traffic. 

“Myc?”

“Hmm?” Mycroft turned to look at his husband, trying for all the world to appear ‘cool’. Greg furrowed his brow, pointed a stern finger and dropped his voice a few decibels so the little ears in the back wouldn’t hear,

“You’re in trouble.”

“Why?!” Mycroft responded sounding uncannily like his younger brother at his most annoying of moments.

“You know bloody well why. I’ll deal with you once we’ve got these two inside.” Greg clicked the button releasing the child lock and Mycroft was halfway out of the car in an instant,

“I don’t need dealing with,” Mycroft mumbled petulantly, and Greg sighed loudly,

“I heard that.”

Greg climbed out of the car and approached Sherlock’s door as he heard Mycroft talking to John,

“Come on poppet, let’s get you inside.” Mycroft unclasped John from his chair and guided him from the car to the front door, leaving it open behind them for Greg and Sherlock.

“Right love, remember what Pa said, one hours play time,”

“Yep.” Sherlock nodded as he skipped up the stairs to the front door, swinging Greg’s arm back and forth in the process.

Once all four were safely inside the house and Greg had double checked that the car was locked, the front door was closed, and everyone was stripped of coats and shoes.

“Study, Myc, I’ll get these two set up.” Greg cast a glance in Mycroft’s direction to find that he had already become exceptionally gangly. Both Holmes brothers had a habit of becoming unable to control their long limbs when flustered, usually because they were in trouble. 

“But-“

“Now, Mycroft.”

“Fine.” Mycroft sighed as he stalked down the corridor in the direction of Greg’s study.

“Pa in trouble?” Sherlock asked as Greg directed both boys into the front room.

“I’m afraid so.” Greg nodded before pulling the large tidy boxes of toys from the cupboard,

“Uh-oh.” John sang as he reached into one of the boxes, finding a large plastic T-Rex on top, “Rawr!” Greg chuckled and ruffled John’s hair before straightening up.

“Now then, I might be a moment dealing with naughty Pa, who needs a wee?”

“Jus’ had one.” Sherlock said before glancing over at John who was already caught up with his dinosaur, “An’ John-John.” 

“Okay, who needs a drink?” Sherlock shook his head and Greg nodded, “Okay well if you need anything you come and get me from my study, okay?”

He moved over to the shelves to turn on a baby monitor that broadcast on a screen in his study.

“You two stay in here and play, and no naughtiness, just because I’m dealing with one naughty boy doesn’t mean I can’t deal with you two as well.” Greg cast a serious look at both boys and was suitably assured that they’d behave. “Okay, I’m just down the corridor if you need me.”

“John-John, trains!” Sherlock squealed as he discovered a steam train in the box, John audibly gasped in excitement and Greg snuck out of the room. 

Greg made his way to his study, schooling his features for the telling off his was about to give. However, when he opened the door of the study to find Mycroft leaning back against his desk looking not at all sorry for himself, his brow automatically furrowed.

“Stand up straight, Myc.” Greg sighed as he closed the door behind him.

“This is ridiculous, I didn’t do anything wrong.” Mycroft protested with an ill-advised foot stomp. Greg strode past him and around his desk before sitting down. On the other side of the desk, Mycroft fidgeted, 

“Hands behind your back,” Greg ordered, and Mycroft followed. 

Greg sat back in his chair, taking a good look at his husband. 

“I’m surprised we’ve got to do this, we’ve been here for the same reason before. Repeating mistakes isn’t usually your style.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” Mycroft grumbled at the floor.

“Eyes on me.” Greg waited a moment until Mycroft relented and looked up through his lashes at him. “What have I said before about playing with traffic, like London is your very own Scalextric?” When Mycroft didn’t answer Greg added a “Hm?”

“Not to do it.” Mycroft mumbled again as he toed the carpet before finding his voice to argue, “But I was helping!”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Myc. I didn’t need your help, and you knew that which means you were showing off.” 

“Wasn’t.”

Greg rolled his eyes. While his husband had no desire or need to regress in the way Sherlock and John did, he did have a habit of sounding like a moody teenager when things weren’t going his way. 

“Yes, you were. And while I usually don’t mind you showing off, it’s pretty sexy, to be honest, showing off by playing with other people’s lives is bloody off limits and you know it.”

Mycroft’s eyes dropped to the carpet and Greg ran a tired hand through his hair, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

There was a pause before Mycroft mumbled, “Yes.”

“Good. So you know why you’re grounded-“

“What?!” Mycroft’s eyes snapped up,

“Yep, you can work from home tomorrow and count yourself lucky I’m not keeping you home all week.”

“I can’t-“

“You can, and you will.”

Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at the floor.

“Right,” Greg sighed, “Two days it is, shall we keep going?”

Mycroft flapped his arms about in frustration, looking for a good argument but Greg simply raised an eyebrow and waited.

“No.” Mycroft finally mumbled,

“No what?”

“No sir.” 

“Better. Now come here.” Greg pushed his chair back and patted his lap,

Mycroft gaped for a moment before falling on a perfect excuse, “Lock and John-“

Greg turned the screen of the baby monitor to face Mycroft, “The other two children are behaving, it’s about time you did the same. Come here,”

“Not a child.”

“No, you’re not, so it would really make my bloody day if you’d stop acting like one. Get over here, now.” 

Mycroft didn’t move, but glanced over his shoulder. Greg chuckled darkly,

“Make me chase you and I’ll spank you every night for a month. Here, now.” Greg clicked his fingers and pointed to the carpet in front of him. Mycroft relented and made his way around Greg’s desk,

“Well done,” Greg praised genuinely, patting his husband on the back as he approached, “Over you go, love.” 

“You’re mean.” Mycroft mumbled as he bent over Greg’s lap. He knew he sounded like a child, or two ‘children’ in particular but he didn’t particularly care in that moment. 

“I know, but someone’s got to keep you in line, love.” Greg soothed as he rubbed circles on Mycroft’s back.

The following spanking lasted longer than Mycroft thought fair, about halfway through he started shifting about,

“Owwww, Greg that’s enough now.” 

“Not quite, love.” Greg sighed in sympathy but didn’t relent only stopping when Mycroft wrapped his arms around his husband’s legs and cried. “Okay, up you come.”

“Done?” Mycroft asked sadly, wiping his face with his hand,

“Yeah, all done. Come on,”

Mycroft allowed himself to be pulled up and held for a moment before his thoughts returned to the boys in the other room,

“Are they okay?” he asked, straining his neck to try and get a look at the screen.

“They’re fine,” Greg soothed, as he tried to settle the still upset husband on his lap.

“We should- “

“No,” Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, holding him close, “No you don’t.”

“Greg-“ Mycroft wriggled in Greg’s arms, trying in vain to slip away,

“We’re not going anywhere just yet,” Greg murmured as he gently wiped the tears from Mycroft’s face while holding him in place with his other hand. “Not until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” Mycroft moved to stand up again but was quickly pulled back down onto Greg’s lap.

“Do as you’re told and sit still.”

“Sitting isn’t much fun at the moment.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours, you brute.” Mycroft chuckled,

“Behave,” Greg growled, pecking Mycroft on the cheek before laughing himself. “It’s going to be okay, you know?”

“Mm, are you’re sure?” Mycroft asked with a sigh as he finally collapsed against him.

“I am.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then.” Greg nodded, “Now, I’m going to make some dinner, why don’t you go and play with those boys of ours?”

“You don’t need help?”

“Nah, I think I can manage to whip up something to eat.” Greg ushered Mycroft off his lap and took his hand before leading him from the room.

When Mycroft joined John and Sherlock in the front room they were indeed playing wonderfully together. They had removed every single toy from its tidy box, leaving very few spots of carpet still visible but seemed to have created a game that involved Sherlock chasing John with a large duck. There didn’t seem to be any particular nuance to the game. 

“What are we playing then?” Mycroft asked kindly as he stepped over the mounds of toys before dropping elegantly into a cross-legged position amongst the madness, wincing as he did.

“Get John!” Sherlock announced as he quickly collapsed into Mycroft’s lap before holding his toy duck up to his face, “Quack, quack!”

“Get John, you say?” Mycroft asked with a smirk,

“Nooooo!” John called from behind one of the curtains,

“How about we call a truce, just for now?” 

“Yeh!” John nodded as he stepped out from behind the curtain, red-faced and out of breath.

“Come here, my love,” Mycroft held an arm out in John’s direction, but he hesitated, “Oh don’t worry, I’ll protect you, come on.” John nodded and wandered over to join the two of them on the carpet, collapsing on the floor and laying his head on Mycroft’s available knee, the other was currently being sat on by Sherlock. “I’m very proud of you both, playing so nicely together.”

“Did’na fight, not even once!” John declared holding up a single finger for Mycroft to see,

“Not even once, my word! Such good boys.”

“Let’s play with the trains!” Sherlock excitedly announced as he pushed himself up from Mycroft’s lap,

“Oh,” Mycroft gasped dramatically, “I thought you wanted to give me a cuddle?”

Sherlock turned back, equally as excited by Mycroft’s comment, he nodded.

“Come here then,” He held out the hand that wasn’t stroking John’s hair and Sherlock hurried back, he dropped to his knees and shuffled over before curling up in Mycroft’s lap. “My best boys.” Mycroft murmured to himself,

“What about Da?” Sherlock asked as he took Mycroft’s free hand, wrapped it in both of his and pulled it to his chest.

“Da is my best man, but you’re my best boys.”

“What about when we’re growned?” 

“Then you’re still my best boys.” Mycroft smiled,

“Big boys.” John nodded, his eyes dozing,

“That’s right, my big boys.” 

“Best!” Sherlock corrected, and Mycroft chuckled,

“Quite right, sorry, my best big boys.” Mycroft looked around at the bombsite that was the front room and sighed, “We’d better tidy up before we get in trouble.”

“Pa already in trouble,” Sherlock grumbled as he turned over, so he was facing Mycroft,

“Why do you say that?”

“Da told us.”

“Ah.”

“Sore bum?” John asked as he rubbed his cheek on Mycroft’s knee, making the older man laugh.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh no, poor Pa.” John sympathised as he patted Mycroft’s thigh,

“I haven’t been spanked in aaaages.” Sherlock boasted, and Mycroft raised an eyebrow,

“Sherlock Holmes, you were spanked yesterday.”

“Yeh, ages!”

“Oh, your poor backside.” Mycroft chuckled as he squeezed Sherlock tight, leaning in to kiss his forehead,

“Poor Lock!” Sherlock giggled in response.

As Greg pushed open the door to check on ‘his boys’ he found them in their little heap, giggling away.

“Are you three behaving yourselves?” He asked with a chuckle, throwing the tea towel he was holding over his shoulder,

“Yeh!” John and Lock responded at the same time as Mycroft’s “Yes!”

“Good, time to wash up and,” Greg glanced around the room, “Tidy up, dinner’s almost ready.” With that, Greg left them to it and returned to the kitchen.

“Right boys, let’s put these toys away,” John and Sherlock pushed themselves up and starting rounding up their toys, one at a time, and returning them to the empty toy boxes. It took Mycroft a moment to work out how to stand up without putting too much pressure on his arse, it didn’t really work, and he made a slightly embarrassing proclamation of “Ouch!” in the process. 

Mycroft moved quickly, sweeping up as many toys as possible and had 90% of the toys put away in the time it took Sherlock and John to meticulously rehome the remaining 10%.

“Well done my dears, come on let’s wash our hands.” Mycroft held out a hand to each boy which they took before walking with Mycroft to the toilet When they’d made it about half the way to the bathroom Mycroft and Sherlock came to a sudden stop, halted in their tracks by John who had brought the chain to a half. Mycroft turned back to look at him to find him tiredly rubbing his eyes with the closed fist of his free hand,

“Pa, up?”

“Just a few more steps, dear.”

“No, up!” John whined, growing more frustrated. 

“Come on, we’ll wash our hands and then you can sit down for dinner,” 

“Uuuuup!” John emphasised his request by hopping up and down,

“Oi, monkey, that’s enough of that,” Greg ordered as he joined them in the hallway,

“Da up?!” John released Mycroft’s hand so he could attach himself to Greg,

“No, that’s not how we ask nicely, is it? Come on, time to wash our hands.” Greg took John’s hand in his own and pulled him along after him.

In the downstairs bathroom, Mycroft was busy washing Sherlock’s hands when he heard the sound of a John tantrum from the hallway,

“Myc,” Greg called, “You and Lock get started on dinner, we’ll just be a minute,”

“Yes dear,” Mycroft called back,

“Uh-oh.” Sherlock sang and Mycroft chuckled.

“Right you,” Greg sighed as he reached down towards the kicking and screaming John on the floor, he grabbed a hold of John’s ankle and pulled him back towards the front room. “Time out.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” John chanted as Greg pulled him into the front room and over to the corner before releasing his leg and walking around to hoist John up into a sitting position. 

“Three minutes of quiet time.” Greg ordered and John slumped forwards with a frustrated whine, “You’re a big boy,” Greg soothed, patting John on the leg before retreating the lean against the wall and watch over John.

In the kitchen, Mycroft settled Sherlock in his usual seat and piled up a plastic plate with the pasta Greg had cooked before putting it down in front of the younger man. He then fixed himself a plate and joined Sherlock at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Where’s John-John?” Sherlock asked as he pushed the food around on his plate,

“In a time out I’d imagine, now you be a big boy and eat your dinner.”

“Not hungry.”

Mycroft tsked, “Now I don’t think that’s true, would you like me to feed you?”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded before opening his mouth expectantly, Mycroft chuckled,

“Okay, good boy.”

Mycroft fed Sherlock for a few minutes in happy silence, the younger man opening his mouth each time the plastic fork approached his mouth. Finally, the door to the kitchen opened and Greg walked in, a tired John in tow. Greg settled John in his seat and started feeding him without asking,

“Are you being a good boy, Lock?” He asked as he and Mycroft simultaneously fed the boys,

“A-huh,” Sherlock nodded,

“Yes, he’s being very good,” Mycroft confirmed.

“Almost bath time, eh?”

“I think so,” Mycroft nodded, “We’ve got two tired boys,”

“Not tired,” Sherlock pouted, shaking his head.

“Oh, I think you’re tired, I know I’m tired.” Mycroft sighed, and Greg laughed,

“Yeah, two tired dads.” Greg nodded.


End file.
